


Gnosis

by AngelicSentinel



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Harry, Coming of Age, Dragonborn Harry, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Found Family, Harry is Heterosexual, Het and Slash, M/M, Multi, No Underage Sex, Political, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Underage Drinking, Violence involving Children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 75,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSentinel/pseuds/AngelicSentinel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small Voice calls from the Throat of the World, and the Dragonborn comes. One person can shape the world, but two can change the realms forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mixing Memory and Desire

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, United Kingdom,**

**Wednesday, 25** **th** **of December, 1991 A.D.**

**Library**

Harry Potter had made his way to the Restricted Section with a sole-minded purpose: to find the information on Nicolas Flamel. The dark of the library gave him little light to see, but if he raised his lamp, he could view the titles. These books were old. They had faded titles. Some of the spines were cracked, and one book looked like it was bound in human skin. Harry shuddered. Still another had an old red-brown stain. Harry didn't touch that one.

Covered in his invisibility cloak, he cracked open the spine of a small brown book that looked interesting. He'd found it hidden in the back of the bookcase, and he'd pulled it out almost as an afterthought. Still, he had to start somewhere.

It didn't seem to fit with the rest of the books. Most of the other strange books had letters he could understand, judging by their titles. This one held no title, merely markings that looked like scratches. He opened it up and saw more of the scratches, along with a title, _On the Cosmology of Mundus_. He didn't know what that meant. The book had neither index nor a table of contents. He continued anyway.

He flipped past the title page and read the elegant capitals on the first page.

" **IN THE BEGINNING…**

… **ANU** wanted to fill the Void, but Padomay had shattered the twelve worlds of creation. Anu and his children forged the remnants to create Nirn, but they didn't use them all. Some fragments Padomay knocked outside of space and time in his anger, and these became the Elder Scrolls. Others became relics of outside worlds. Each held power, but not all of their power was the same.

Some fragments the children of the blood—the Aedra and the Daedra—took for their own.

Daedra, being solely Padomay's blood and elements of chaos, surrounded Mundus with their fragments, blocking Nirn from Aetherius. The fragments the Daedra took became the respective Princes' planes of Oblivion: the Deadlands, Apocrypha, the Shivering Isles, and so on.

The Aedra, being of Anu's and Padomay's intermingled blood, helped Anu craft Creation. Most of their fragments became the heavenly planes of Aetherius: Sovngarde, where the souls of the heroic Nords celebrate their valor eternally, is one such realm. The god of this realm is Shor, better known to the elves as Lorkhan.

Shor tricked the Aedra into creating Mundus, the mortal plane, which encompasses Nirn and most of the other Aedric planets. In return for his trickery, the Aedra slew him, his body becoming the moons Masser and Secunda…

… **BUT** that is not the entire story of Creation: Another fragment knocked out of time and space floated in the Void. It caught the eye of Julianos, Lord of Wisdom and Logic and Contradiction. But Julianos could not form this realm into his alone, and called Magnus—who was magic in its basest essence and the Architect of Creation—to him. Still, together they could not do it. The new planet sat in the Void for infinity or for no time at all until they decided to seek out Akatosh, the head Divine and Lord of Time.

Intrigued by the barren planet outside the purview of Aetherius and Oblivion, Akatosh agreed to place the planet alone in Time to grow without Nirn's influence. However, Magnus had already infused the planet with ambient magic by having a hand in creating it.

As the years passed, Earth grew into a thriving world with a large magical community. Because Magnus had not torn a hole to Aetherius as he did on Nirn, not all people born on Earth had magical ability…

… **WHEN** some of Akatosh's children rebelled against Alduin, Akatosh gave them sanctuary here, and so the dragons came into this world… **"**

Nothing on Flamel. It was an interesting read, but it wasn't what he was seeking. Harry sighed and closed the book. He absentmindedly tucked it into his bag. He picked up another book from the bottom shelf. It was black, silver and heavy. He flipped it open, and it started screaming at him.

Panicked, he ran out of the room, extinguishing his lantern, barely dodging Filch. Snape was not far behind him. The cloak concealed him, but Harry knew they could hear his footsteps, so he ran harder. At night and without a lantern, Hogwarts confused him, and he wound up hopelessly lost.

Darting into an unused classroom, Harry slipped behind the door, breathing hard. He'd wait until Filch and Snape left the corridor. That had been a close call. Walking farther into the room, he saw something leaned against the wall. He moved closer. Tall and golden, it stood on clawed feet.

It was a mirror. Taking off his cloak and folding it neatly to one side, he walked towards the reflective side and gasped. Desperate flight from Filch forgotten, Harry Potter gazed into the strange mirror where dozens of his relatives surrounded him. They had to be relatives; most of them looked like him. Uncle Vernon, Dudley, and Petunia were conspicuously absent. _Maybe it showed the only the dead or the afterlife?_

In the center of the mirror were two figures that could only be his parents. His father had messy hair and glasses just like him. His mother had bright red hair and a kind smile. He waved shyly, seeing his parents' reflections wave back at him. He sighed, staring at their outlines, memorizing them. His father crinkled his hazel eyes, smiling proudly at him. As he flicked his eyes to his mother, she seemed to be holding out her arms, reaching for him. A hint of despair colored her bright green eyes as she looked at him. She placed her hand against the opposite side of the glass.

In that moment, he wished with all his heart for his mother. For someone to love him and take care of him. His very soul called out for the kindred presence of another. _She was dead, she couldn't be real,_ he told himself firmly. He reached out his hand and then pulled back, afraid to touch the mirror. He shook his head and resolved himself. He was a Gryffindor. He would not be afraid. He touched the smooth glass of the mirror, placing his hand so it looked like it was touching his mother's.

She rippled and changed. His parents had disappeared. Staring at the mirror in shock, he saw a mountain, tall and proud and cold, beset by a blizzard. What looked like thousands of stairs curved their way around it. A lone figure climbed the stairs to the top, buffeted by the storm, but still soldiering gamely on.

He pulled his hand away, and the silvered glass rippled as if it were a curtain. Intrigued, Harry touched the mirror again, this time putting pressure on it. The mirror's pane gave just a little. It felt like silk. Smoke wreathed its way around Harry as he pressed harder, obscuring the mirror, filling the room. He heard whispering, a low murmur of voices he could not make out as the images on the mirror went blank, leaving the arch cast in shadow. The mist caressed him, beckoning him inside with its long delicate fingers.

He pushed harder, and the mirror grabbed hold of him with silvered hands, pulling him in. He struggled, but the silver mist still cocooned him in its embrace, taking him further in. He couldn't feel the bottom half of his body. As it reached his face, filling his nose and mouth and lungs, he screamed. The sound of drums pounded loudly in his ears. His soul burned. He heard singing.

His invisibility cloak lay forgotten on the floor.


	2. A Voice so Thrilling Ne'er Was Heard

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Fredas, 25** **th** **of Evening Star, 4E 201**

**The Throat of the World**

"Wake up," Harry heard a warm voice saying in his ear. "Wake up!" He felt someone insistently nudging at his shoulder. "Wake up, lad, and get out of the snow. You'll catch your death of cold." He sat up, eyes still blurry. He felt something drape around his shoulders. It immediately blocked most of the cold wind that howled around him. The chill had cut right through his emerald green jumper.

"Thanks." He blinked owlishly through his glasses, looking around. He appeared to be on top of a mountain. Snow covered the ground around him. He could feel it melting, soaking through his trousers where he sat. Directly above him, the sun shone clear, but around the mountain, a storm blew fiercely. A tall elderly man in a hooded robe stood beside him. He didn't wear glasses, but his long beard reminded him of Dumbledore. It had a strange-looking knot in it.

"Are you all right?" he asked kindly.

"W-who are you?" Harry said, shivering. A shadow moved over him. He looked up, but he only saw a lone cloud. He stood up with the man's help, staggering in the snowdrift. The fresh, loose-packed snow was slippery, and it was hard to get traction with just his old trainers. The heavy weight of his school bag didn't help.

The man put his hand on his shoulder to steady him. "I am Master Arngeir of the Greybeards, young Breton. And your name?"

"H-harry," he said, teeth still chattering. "Harry Potter."

"Harry? Interesting name," Arngeir mused. "Yes, I can see that. With a name like that, you must be at the center of a lot of trouble."

"I do get into trouble a lot." Harry admitted. He thought about that for a moment. "What would my name have to do with anything?"

"Harry means to harass, you know."

"It's mostly not my fault! Things just tend to happen around me."

"I jest, child. But names do hold power. Let me take you back to High Hrothgar. It is far too cold to stay out here in the elements. A bowl of soup and some warm, spiced mead will do you a world of good."

"High Hrothgar?" Harry asked.

"You've never heard of it?" Arngeir asked. "How strange."

"No," said Harry. "Is it another part of the magical world?" he asked eagerly.

"The magickal world? I suppose it is. Nearly all of Nirn has magicka in one form or another." Arngeir readied a small flame spell in his palm.

"Wow! Can you teach me that?" Harry asked. The word Nirn sounded familiar. Thinking about it, it had featured heavily in that book, but he pushed that thought aside in order to focus on the more important thing at the moment: wandless magic! He thought about casually shooting fireballs at Malfoy. _That would make him think twice before being a bully!_

Arngeir nodded. "Perhaps." He cleared his throat. "Tell me, Harry: how did you end up on top of the Throat of the World?"

"What's the Throat of the World?" Harry asked.

"It is the mountain upon which you stand, child."

"Oh. I touched a mirror and fell through," Harry said.

"A mirror?" Arngeir repeated, thinking hard. "Hmm, I recall no legend involving mirrors, but I am one man, and Nirn is filled with wondrous things beyond my ken. Come now. We have much to discuss, and the skies will not remain clear for long."

They made it to the courtyard of High Hrothgar. Harry looked at the building in awe. The dark stone building was a stark contrast to the white of the snow covering the mountain. It looked like a small, square castle. Walking over to the edge, he saw the whole world before him. Tiny trees and large bodies of water dotted the landscape. At the far corner, what looked like another castle sat above a tiny walled city. The feeling was heady; it felt almost like flying.

"Come now, Harry." Arngeir said, opening the door. Harry followed him. High Hrothgar had a dimly lit interior. Arngeir led Harry to a small table, passing by three other men with long grey beards. One was on his knees as if in meditation. The other two looked like they were practicing some kind of spell. Arngeir introduced the three of them quickly: Brothers Borri, Einarth, and Wulfgar. They merely nodded as Harry passed by. Arngeir handed him a small metal cup with steam coming from the top and a wooden bowl filled with something that smelled heavenly. "Eat."

Harry did. As the first drops of stew hit his tongue, he realized how hungry he was, and he devoured it in short order. He immediately felt better. He hadn't had anything to eat since the feast at Hogwarts. He reached for his cup and took a sip. It was really warm and burned going down, but it made warmth spread to his toes. The drink tasted a little bit like sour honey, but it was still sweet. He could taste cinnamon in it, but he couldn't identify the other flavors.

"So, Harry. Where are your parents?" Harry looked down at the floor, the food in his stomach turning to lead. It hurt even more because he had so recently seen them. He used his spoon to move some of the vegetables in the bowl around. "I see. An orphan, then."

"Yeah," Harry said very quietly.

"From where do you hail?" Arngeir asked.

"I come from Surrey."

"I have never heard of that village. What province?"

"It's a county of England, near London." When Arngeir didn't respond, Harry continued. "Great Britain? The United Kingdom? Europe?"

"Great Breton?" Arngeir said, puzzled. "That is a name with which I am not familiar." He walked over to the shelf and pulled out a large roll of what looked like parchment. He spread it out on the table. "Can you point it out on the map?"

Harry perused it very carefully. "I don't see it," he said, face turning very pale. "Have you ever heard of Earth?" Harry said, grasping at straws.

"No, the word is unfamiliar to me, except as a reference to soil. By your tone, I take it that is not what you meant." Arngeir stroked his beard. "Then it truly is as Paarthurnax said."

"Paarthurnax?" Harry said, curious.

"He is the Grandmaster of the Greybeards. He's the one that found you."

"I don't remember seeing him," Harry said slowly.

Arngeir nodded. "You wouldn't have. He is very private. He said you appeared from _miiraak_ , a portal. When he saw you were a child, he came to me. It is very curious that you are here. Perhaps Kyne had a hand in it."

Harry started to feel a little fuzzy. "You said that word before. What's a grey beard?"

"We are the Tongues, Masters of the Voice."

"Tongues and voices and throats?" Harry was a little confused, but the naming reminded him of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, just a little. He felt pleasantly warm and happy. He ignored the deeper implications for now. He just didn't want to think on them.

"Ah, of course you are unfamiliar with the terms. I shall endeavor to explain. Do you know what a Shout is? Or in the dragon language, a _thu'um_?

"Dragons have their own language?" Harry said excitedly. "Hagrid mentioned them, but he never said they spoke, just that they guarded the bank. I think I may have seen one, once. And Ron's brother, Charlie. He works with dragons, studying them."

"They do," said Arngeir with his infinite patience. "It is from them that the Voice comes. For dragons, their Voice is intrinsic—pardon, Harry, they are born with it—and they need not be taught language. Mankind had no Voice until Kyne, wife of Shor and the Divine aspect of the Wind and Sky, gave them the gift. It is said that she breathed Nords into life here at the Throat of the World. Later, when all the world suffered under the tyranny of the dragons, she again gave them the Voice, so that mankind would be able to defeat Alduin the World-Eater, the dragon king."

"So a Shout isn't when you yell really loud?" Harry asked.

"No. It's more like a concentrated spell of your essence: breath, voice, and life." Seeing Harry's blank look, he just shook his head and continued. "Perhaps it might be better to show you. This is the Shout of Unrelenting Force." Arngeir walked to the center room. He breathed in deeply, " _FUS_!" A visible burst of air came from his mouth and knocked over a jug.

Harry thought it was brilliant. "Could I learn that?"

"It takes years of study to master the Voice," Arngeir said. "If we cannot find a way to for you to return home, it is very likely you will remain here at the monastery, and so you will learn the Way of the Voice. We cannot offer you any childish pursuit, but you will be safe here. Skyrim is not a place for one so young."

Harry wasn't so sure. He had done many things on his own over the years. The Dursleys had taught him one thing. He knew how to take care of himself. Still, it would be absolutely amazing to learn something like that. There was nothing like it even at Hogwarts. He doubted he would be here that long, but he could learn a few things while he was here.

" _Fus_ in the common tongue means 'force.' You must meditate on the meaning, as you saw Brother Borri doing earlier."

Harry concentrated on the word of the spell Arngeir used. He concentrated on how it made him feel. He thought about force. Uncle Vernon and Dudley used force to get their way. How Hagrid knocked in the door at the Hut-on-the-Rock. He thought about the troll rampaging through Hogwarts after Hermione, how it crushed everything with overwhelming force.

But force wasn't just physical. He thought about how Snape talked down to his students. He thought about the Dursleys forcing him into his cupboard and trying to make him afraid. How they forced him to do chores with words and threats. He thought about his own force; his determination to succeed against all odds. Force wasn't always about who was the strongest. He and Ron had not only survived against the troll, they'd defeated it with a first year spell. Force was simply making your will stronger than the other person's was. That's why he wasn't afraid of Snape or Malfoy.

He was so focused he didn't hear Arngeir's gasp of surprise. He had his eyes closed, so he didn't see the wispy beams of light that surrounded him. For a brief moment, his scar pained him terribly. It almost felt like he was fighting himself. Suddenly, he felt something bubble inside him. He didn't know where it came from, but it was there all the same. It had to come out, one way or another. He heard the sound of thunder and the harsh chanting of song. He reached for the knowledge and pulled it close to him. He knew. " _FUS_!"

"Dovahkiin," Arngeir whispered. The ground shuddered. "Dragonborn. But how is that possible?"

"It was an accident! I didn't mean to!"

Arngeir looked at him with eyes full of wonder. "Two in the space of a single generation…That I have lived to see such times! The need must be dire, indeed!"


	3. Does the Eagle Know What's in the Pit?

**The Rift, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Fredas, 25** **th** **of Evening Star, 4E 201**

**Ivarstead, on the bridge to the 7,000 steps.**

Venaethel waited for the soul to spark, waited for the knowledge of the dragon to come to her. It did not. She shifted awkwardly on the bridge as the dragon decayed rapidly, incinerating itself into the aether. Nothing but the dead bones remained. Still no soul.

She was a pragmatic elf, so she slung her bow over her back and went to gather materials from its corpse. She wondered where it had gone, but was glad it somehow vanished. She didn't miss the fragmented way the knowledge entered her mind. She always had a headache afterwards.

Before she'd even started, a whisper loud enough to make the ground shudder pulled her from her work. " _Dovahkiin_." Whatever had just happened, the Greybeards knew. She'd been meaning to make her way to High Hrothgar again. This was as good a reason as any. Klimmek had another set of supplies he'd wanted taken up. She'd promised to do it, and she didn't give her promises lightly. Eyja had taught her that. She missed the old Nord woman fiercely.

The Blades had also mentioned a _thu'um_ that could defeat Alduin. She just couldn't ignore that, and the Greybeards were the only other viable source of information. She'd been avoiding it, though. It wasn't a journey made lightly, and she had her doubts about the Blades' sincerity. About Delphine. Accusing her of being a Thalmor spy just because she was Bosmeri! Slandering the Greybeards and the Way and then asking for her help! She clenched her fist. Her sharp nails cut into her palm.

The Blades were more than useless. They'd shown that at the death of Uriel Septim VII. They'd shown that against the Aldmeri Dominion in the Great War. They'd shown that when her mother's home had burned, and no one came, even though her mother had been a knight sister. No one had long memories these days, not even the mer.

Ven took a deep breath, forcing down her anger. It wouldn't help, and she could see no other way to defeat Alduin. She'd ask, but not for them. For the future of man and beast and mer instead. After giving her thanks to the Ivarstead guards for their assistance, she made her way across the bridge and started up the path again, deep in her thoughts.

She avoided the pilgrims on the lower levels of the mountain. She paused before she entered the tundra, looking back over the small village just to make sure that another dragon wouldn't try to attack Ivarstead. She already made this trip once and had been halfway up the mountain when the dragon attacked. Seeing clear skies, she moved on.

The wind around Ven blew hard and harsh and stinging as flecks of ice hit her face. Locks of her auburn hair whipped in the fierce wind. She drew her cloak tighter about herself. She hated the climb, hated the cold, and longed for the more temperate clime of Cyrodiil's West Weald. Her legs burned. Still she wove around the mountain, determinedly putting one foot in front of the other. A particularly strong burst tried to knock her off, but she held her footing.

Soon enough, High Hrothgar was in sight. She shouldered her pack more strongly and walked up the steps into the building.

"Arngeir?" She called out softly in the gloom. No answer. She called again a little louder. "Arngeir?" Still nothing. _He must be out in the courtyard,_ she thought.

Ven walked farther into the building, through the small hall and into the anteroom. She spotted Arngeir deeply enthralled in a discussion with a young boy. She took a brief moment to observe. The young boy had pitch-black hair and vibrant green eyes. He had round spectacles, rare for anyone outside of scholars. He had the hint of elven breeding showing through his high cheekbones. _A Breton, then._

"Arngeir?" she asked again.

"Ah, Ven. I didn't expect to see you so soon. I barely made the summons," Arngeir said. "The last time took a week or better."

"Last time I was in Whiterun. This time I was in Ivarstead on business," Ven replied, lowering her hood. "Who's this?"

"This is Harry. Harry, this is Venaethel of Skingrad. You have very much in common," Arngeir said. The child looked up at her, smiling shyly before she saw his eyes flick to her ears and widen. _Another person who was surprised the Nord legend was an elf_ , she assumed. A scowl crossed her face. When he held out his hand, she ignored it.

"I fail to see what I could have in common with a Breton child, Arngeir," Ven said, perhaps a bit harsher than she intended. The boy's smile faltered. "What's one doing in High Hrothgar?"

"That is a tale indeed. He's Dragonborn and has come a long way."

"I do not appreciate being toyed with, Arngeir," she crossed her arms.

"I do not jest, _Dovahkiin_." Arngeir's voice became stern. "You of all people should know things can be more than what they seem. You and he share a destiny."

Ven turned to the child. "Prove it. Then I'll decide if you're worth knowing."

"I am worth knowing," Harry said quietly. "I don't have to prove anything."

"I'm sorry. All I heard was an inconsequential little bee buzzing in my ear." She cupped her ear, leaning towards him, and then waved her hand dismissively.

"I said I'm worth knowing!" Harry all but shouted, glaring at her as intensely as he could, clenching his hands as if he were about to take her on in all her armour with his bare fists.

Ven couldn't help it. She let out a big barking laugh, showing her sharp teeth. "You have spirit, boy! I like you. Maybe it is true after all." She held out her hand.

Harry took it as if he were waiting for her to do something else to him. "Don't be such a milk-drinker, Harry. I may look tough," she said, gesturing to her heavily painted and scarred face, "But I don't bite." Ven shook it heartily and then looked thoughtful, tapping her chin. "Not until I kill you, anyway."

Harry's brow furrowed. Arngeir shot her a look that seemed to be a mixture of exasperation and uneasiness. Nice to know she still had it. He could never tell if she were joking or not.

"Harry, could you Shout again?" Arngeir asked. "Towards Ven, if you will."

Harry nodded shakily. Ven watched as he spread his feet hip's width apart and squared himself. She planted her own. He focused, took a deep breath, and Shouted. " _FUS_!"

Ven held her hand out as Harry's _thu'um_ buffeted her. Looking up at him, she could see the sweat on his brow. It exhausted him quickly, then. Something the Greybeards would have to train out of him.

"So it is true. Very nice, Harry." She turned to Arngeir. "So how did he learn a Shout so young?"

"It is curious," Arngeir said. "I merely demonstrated it once, not to teach, but to show. He came to the knowledge on his own."

Ven tapped her temples. "Does this have anything to do with the dragon I killed down in Ivarstead? It died, but I didn't absorb its soul."

Arngeir nodded. "Yes. That would seem to fit, especially since you already have the knowledge of force."

"You killed a dragon?" Harry asked with wide eyes.

"Yes, I did," Ven answered.

"But why? Was it hard?"

"Because the dragons would enslave us all, man and mer." It was like talking to a babe. "And yes. It was very hard. They rarely take to ground, so it takes a keen archer to bring one down." She couldn't keep the proud tone out of her voice. She was the best archer in Skyrim, perhaps in all of Tamriel. So she thought anyway.

"Oh. What's a mer?"

Ven couldn't believe he didn't know what that meant. "Means one of the "people," an elf. Arngeir, where did you come across this child?"

"On the top of the Throat of the World. According to Paarthurnax, he appeared from a portal there," Arngeir said.

Ven looked at young Harry again. "Is that all?"

"No," Harry said. "Master Arngeir and I were just talking about it. I come from a place called Earth. He's never heard of it."

"Neither have I. Someone named your plane after dirt?"

"How is that any better than Nirn, really?" Harry asked.

Ven inclined her head in acceptance. "Fair enough. Harry, what are your plans?"

"Well, I want to go home," Harry said. "There's only about a week left of holiday before I have to return to school, and I didn't mean to end up here."

"As I have explained to Harry, it will probably take me longer than that to gather the research," Arngeir said. "The Greybeards do not have the resources of the Mages' College."

"But what would you do in the meantime?" Ven asked Harry.

"Master Arngeir said I could stay here, and he'd teach me more about magic and Shouts."

"Here?" Ven said dubiously. "I'm not sure a monastery is the best place for a child, especially one so sequestered as High Hrothgar. And Arngeir, wouldn't the College be a better place to research it? I'm only an apprentice, but I have access to the Arcanaeum, probably the best library in Skyrim. They let me research anything I want without question. I could keep his presence hidden."

Arngeir stroked his beard. "Yes, that could work. Please do. And as for Harry, it is up to him. Skyrim is not a safe place, but he could travel with you. Yes," Arngeir said firmly, "I'm quite fond of the idea. Who else to better protect him than a fellow Dragonborn? You follow the Way."

"No, no, no. This is definitely not going to work. I have enemies; the Thalmor keep sending assassins after me, not to mention Alduin wants me dead, the Forsworn, countless bandit groups…" Ven continued naming factions and ticking them off her fingers.

Arngeir interrupted. "Do you not have a place for him? One that is perhaps easily defensible?"

Ven hesitated, obviously wavering. "I…suppose. The Imperial contractors I hired should have finished all the additions to Lakeview by now, if they didn't skip out because I'm an elf. My mother's name obviously doesn't mean anything to them anymore." She turned to Harry. "Harry, how about it? Either they can teach you, or I can."

Harry was quiet for a long time, weighing the options. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah. I think I'd like to see Skyrim."

"Great!" Arngeir said. "Then it is settled."

* * *


	4. 'Tis Not Too Late to Seek a Newer World

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Loredas, 26th of Evening Star, 4E 201**

**High Hrothgar**

He might not ever get home again. Arngeir and Venaethel had seemed enthusiastic about researching portals, but Harry just thought they were being like regular adults and hiding things from him. He'd seen the looks they exchanged when they thought he wasn't looking.

He was supposed to be sleeping, but the thoughts swimming in his head kept him awake. Venaethel and Arngeir had had an argument. Brother Einarth had to come in and talk sense into them. Harry couldn't understand the words, but it was the first time he'd ever heard Einarth speak, and Arngeir had told him later it was in the dragon tongue. He'd said his Voice was so powerful he couldn't speak normally. Harry wondered how Arngeir could speak normally, but he didn't offer the information, and Harry didn't ask.

Harry's past two days had been very strange. He kept thinking of that book, of everything that happened. He'd only read a little of it, skimming through it really, looking for any mention of Flamel. It had mentioned this place, though. Nirn. Now that he had a little time to think about it, it'd hit him. This place was another world. Thinking about it nearly took his breath away. He clutched his school bag closer to him.

Venaethel had left to go speak to Paarthurnax, but Harry had to stay at the monastery. He'd wanted to go, but he had blisters on his feet and ears from the cold. Arngeir was no proper healer himself, so he'd said. Arngeir had done what he could, but they would take a little time to heal. Venaethel had said she'd get him a proper set of gear, but until then, he had to stay inside as much as possible.

Harry guessed Venaethel was all right. She'd been harsh they first met, but she'd warmed up considerably afterwards when he had stood up to her. _Maybe it was against elven culture to look at their ears?_

Harry couldn't help but think of Venathel as wild woman. Her brown skin reminded him of Pavarti Patil in his year. Her eyes intimidated him a little. They were an inhuman shade of red-orange. Many scars covered the right side of her face, but they were hard to see, covered by one of three sharp slashes of blood red war paint. The armour she wore was shiny, but it had a lot of leather in it, too.

A door slamming jerked him abruptly from his thoughts. Venaethel came stalking through to the living quarters, all fire and fury. She tossed him a small bundle. "Harry, there you are. Get your things ready. We leave as soon as you are done. I'm tired of this place."

"Venaethel," Harry began.

"Call me Ven. I hate my name," she said with a scowl.

"Ven," Harry amended, "how did it go?"

A flurry of expressions crossed her face, so many that Harry didn't know which to decipher first. He recognized anger, fear, and a great, sweeping weariness of which he'd never seen the like. "Paarthurnax is a dragon."

"Oh," Harry said. He understood, at least a little. It would be like if Snape actually were a good person and not after the Stone. "He saved me. Arngeir said I would have frozen to death. I'd like to meet him."

Ven nodded. "He is not what I expected, not after fighting them for so long." She fiddled with the edges of her hood. "Most of what we talked about doesn't matter, but he talked a little about you. He said you came from the _Tiid-Ahraan_ , the Time-Wound."

"What's that?"

"Apparently, it's a split in time or something that happened at the defeat of Alduin. Paarthurnax taught the _thu'um_ there to the Nords who defeated Alduin in the past, and that is where he saw them use it. He says he can't use it himself because he's a dragon. Their Voice is who they are, and their names hold what they are at their essence. They're immortal. They cannot comprehend mortality, and the Shout makes them mortal."

"Immortal? But you said you killed them!" She ruffled his hair. "Hey!" Harry yelped, trying to slap her hand away.

She caught his wrist and grinned. "Immortal doesn't mean invulnerable, you know." She gestured to the package she'd thrown him. "You gonna open that or not?"

Harry opened the bundle in his lap and saw the contents: thick furred gloves, a pair of boots, and a faded yellow hood that matched Ven's own. It was like Christmas all over again. People just didn't give him things. "Thank you," he said.

She brushed him off. "Don't need you getting frostbite or more chilblains, that's all. You're just lucky our feet are near the same size." Harry thought she was just being stubborn because she had a smile on her face. _Yeah, she really is all right._

The gloves were bigger than his hands, but the hood and the boots fit him comfortably. The hood was a strange thing. His magic seemed to flow through it and expand as he put it on. He put his trainers in his bag and shouldered it. "I'm ready."

"Let's go," Ven said, and then she cursed. "The supplies. Hold on, Harry. We can't quite leave yet." They made their way towards the center room where Arngeir stood in meditation.

"Now Arngeir, before I forget, here," Ven said tersely, retrieving a large bag from her rucksack.

"More supplies? You have my thanks, Ven. Kyne always provides for us."

"You're welcome." Ven scowled. "I also brought a few bottles of your favorite mulled mead. I shouldn't give it to you, since you're so content to let Alduin ravage Skyrim. I don't agree with the Blades, you know this, but I don't agree with you either."

Arngeir sighed. "I am not 'content' to let Alduin destroy Skyrim. It is as it was foretold and nothing more. The world will end one way or another, and the Shout merely postponed the inevitable. But I wouldn't say no to more of your secret brew. I've never had its equal in all of Skyrim."

Ven's face softened, and she nodded. "Effusive praise. Eyja would be happy to hear you say that, I think. It's her recipe." Ven's upturned lips were the first hint of a smile Harry had seen since she stormed in "She always wanted to come home to Skyrim." Then Ven grimaced. "It's better than that Black-Briar swill. Maven Black-Briar brews her mead drier than the sands of Hammerfell."

"Indeed?" Arngeir chuckled. Ven handed him the pack. "Farwell, Ven, Harry." He nodded at them. "May your journey be a safe one."

"May Julianos guide your path, Arngeir."

"Goodbye," Harry said. "Thanks for everything."

They stepped outside. The sun was only just beginning to crest over the horizon. As the cold hit Harry's face, he immediately started shivering. He wondered why Ven wasn't cold. Her armour left her arms and legs bare. His feet and hands had started to feel numb before Arngeir took him inside. Even the snowfall at Hogwarts hadn't been this bad. He wasn't used to this kind of biting cold. It reminded him of a wolf. It howled around the mountain and used sharp ice-white teeth to bite at him. The hood, gloves, and boots helped, but it still cut down to his bones.

Ven handed Harry a small golden-sheathed dagger. It looked dangerously pretty. The back of the blade had a a vicious notch. It had stylized wings on the hilt and an eagle head on the end. She taught him how tie it through his belt and draw it quickly.

Harry had seen how far the mountain towered over everything else, so he wasn't surprised when barely a quarter into the way down, he became exhausted. Ven kept nudging him forward. He was determined to make it to the bottom. About halfway down, he couldn't make it any farther. Because of his violent entrance into the world, the cold, and his lack of sleep during the night, his energy had drained completely. He had nearly fallen asleep as he walked.

He barely felt it when Ven moved her pack to the side and hoisted him up around her back, looping his hands around her neck and getting a good grip under his knees. The lull of her swaying steps put him to sleep, and the world faded.


	5. Man's Inhumanity to Man

**Eastmarch Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Turdas, 31 of Evening Star, 4E 201**

**En route to Winterhold College**

_Skyrim is beautiful_ , Harry thought again. He breathed in deeply, smelling the difference in the air. It smelled strangely clean, and it didn't have the chemical tang he was used to. He didn't notice until it was gone. No cars burning petrol. No smog.

Here trees sparsely dotted the landscape. Little hot springs puddled here and there. The rocky terrain made it a bit hard to walk through, but Harry, never much one for athleticism other than a quick sprint to get away from Dudley, was doing quite well considering. He'd had to be fit to walk the distances between his classes in the castle, but that was nothing on this. They'd been walking for five straight days now. His boots had been conditioned to his feet, but he still had blisters. Ven refused to heal them and said he needed them to callus. His legs were jelly every night, but he was slowly getting stronger.

Ven'd also refused to let him ride Queen Alfsigr, her dark bay horse. She said they'd have lessons later. Granted, she hadn't ridden her either, but if they'd had, they'd already be at their destination. They needed to hurry. Ven had said it was more important for him to toughen up; he wouldn't survive Skyrim otherwise. After constant attacks by wolves and bears, Harry could see it, so he'd stopped feeling so resentful. He truly needed to build more stamina.

A short distance ahead Ven stopped. She'd drawn her bow and was aiming it slowly around. Harry didn't see anything. Ven had crouched, placing one foot carefully in front of another, making no noise at all. Harry envied her skill.

"Harry, stay behind me. Better yet, hide." Ven hissed from the side of her mouth. Harry didn't move. "Now!" Reluctantly, Harry crept off into some underbrush. Just in time.

"Behold the future! Behold the Thalmor!" A hooded man said as he cast a lightning spell at Ven. She dodged, but it still crackled along her skin.

"Behold the long-winded!" Ven said. She didn't have time to loose a shot before the man came too close, firing spells almost incessantly. Harry was new to battle, but he thought it clever. He thought it would have been even better if he hadn't announced himself.

Two other people with golden armour came crashing through the terrain. One of them circled around Ven, attempting to get her from behind. She spun, barely managing to block it with her bow. Pushing out with her weapon, she nearly threw it at him, forcing him down, giving her time to draw her wicked-looking black sword. Her right palm crackled with electricity.

The other two attacked her directly. The one who seemed to be the leader shot out spell after spell after spell, which Ven dodged. She used her sword to block one's strike and shot lightning at the one casting spells. The figure staggered for a moment before leaping again into the fray.

Harry could hardly watch. It was a deadly dance, lighting flying everywhere. Ven twirled and brought her sword down low, swinging at the man's legs. It left her right side vulnerable though, and the man got her on the unarmoured portion of her arm. He yelled in triumph as blood dripped from the wound. Ven staggered back from the blow, and the wizard closed in for the kill. The third figure she'd thrown the bow at seemed to have recovered and also moved towards Ven. Ven took a deep breath and had started to Shout before one bashed her with his shield.

Harry felt sick. Yeah, he'd only known Ven for less than a week, but she was currently fighting off three people by herself in order to protect him. This wasn't him. He didn't run away and hide from the troll. He and Ron had fought it. He'd leapt on his back to distract him. That gave him an idea.

" _Flipendo_!" Harry said, pulling out his wand. He barely made the man stagger. He ran towards the hooded figure, tackling his legs and knocking him down to the ground. The figure grabbed his throat, nearly squeezing all the air from Harry's lungs. They wrestled, the heavier man pinning Harry to the ground. The man knocked Harry's wand from his hand before he could think to cast another spell.

Fighting for his life now, Harry pressed on through the pain, unsheathing his dagger. With the last of his strength, he drove the dagger upwards as hard as he could. The man let out a roar of pain. The pressure on his neck lessened, and he could breathe again. He crawled from underneath the man's heavy weight, gasping and coughing and clutching his throat.

His charge had distracted the two other men, and Ven used that time to behead one of the swordsmen. " _YOL TOOR_!" she Shouted at the other. He let out a high scream as the flames from Ven's Shout caused him to roast alive, his armour conducting the heat and making it more effective.

With both of them dead, Ven moved to the injured man, who was holding a glowing hand to his torso and trying to remove the dagger with his other hand. A little bit of blood had dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He looked up and saw Ven standing over him. "No, please! Have mercy!" he said, scrambling backwards.

"Mercy is for those who've earned it," Ven said, and she ran him through.

Ven moved to help Harry up. Blood covered both of their hands liberally. Harry stared in shock at his hands, at nothing at all. He felt dizzy. A headache was beginning to form behind his eyes. He just stared at the dagger protruding from the man's stomach. "I did that," he said, bewildered. He licked his lips, tasting copper.

"You did," Ven agreed. She had blood all over her face and armour.

Harry gagged, bile rising in his throat. He turned and vomited. He stared in fascination as the vomit mixed with the blood that dripped off his hands. The fact that a part of him felt satisfied at the carnage horrified him. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, not after a death. Not after he'd helped kill someone.

"But you helped save my life," Ven said softly. When he didn't respond to her, she came closer and embraced him. Harry tensed, but when she didn't hurt him or let go, he leaned into her embrace, putting his head against the leather of her armour. She stroked his hair, speaking nonsensical reassurances. _Is this what having a mum feels like?_ he wondered. When he stopped feeling so shaky, he let go of her. "Thank you."

Then she lightly punched his shoulder. "I told you to stay back, idiot. That was reckless and foolish, and you could have been killed," she said sternly.

"But you just said…"

"Doesn't make it any less true." She palmed her face, and then ran her hand through her hair, knocking back her hood. "They've gotten a lot more aggressive lately. I don't like them being so close to Windhelm. To hear Ulfric Stormcloak tell it, he knows everything that goes on in his territory. Lies. He's being played like a puppet."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"I told you about the Civil War on the way here, right?" She pulled out a couple of potions. She drank one down and gave the other to him.

Harry nodded as he drank the potion she gave to him. Immediately, his throat felt better and the last lingering pain from his cold blisters went away. The potion tasted vaguely of bread, flower petals, and something else he couldn't identify.

"Well, the Thalmor are using a tactic Talos himself would be proud of: divide and conquer. Wait for two enemies to weaken one another, then when both are exhausted, eradicate them both in their weakness. It's useless and a waste of life and it appears I'm the only one who sees it."

"But you've tried telling everyone, right?"

Ven sighed. "It's complicated, Harry. Particularly since I'm a Bosmer. No one wants to listen to me."

"But why? I don't understand. Can't they see you're trying to save them?"

"Harry, Skyrim has seen war with elves many times over the years. In Cyrodiil, the Ayleids enslaved men to do their bidding. Many of the mer want dominance over men as divine right, believing that Mundus inhibits us. The wars are bitter and brutal. I've told you of Great War between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion. This is just more of the same."

"But you're the _Dovahkiin_! Arngeir said it makes you someone people listen to!"

"The _Dovahkiin_ is a Nord legend, and so many people think that it should be a proper Nord, not a mer. I think it only makes it worse, honestly."

"What about me?" Harry asked.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You're too young. I won't have you used as a pawn between the Jarls. Besides, you're to leave anyway, as soon as we find the Elder Scroll, right?"

"Right," Harry nodded. He had to get back to Hogwarts. They had to be missing him by now, Maybe they were working from that end to try to get him back.

"Anyway, don't try to distract me. That was your first time you've ever seen someone killed?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. He still felt sick just thinking about it. All that blood. He could still see the elven head rolling out of its helmet behind his eyelids when he blinked. He could feel the way the skin gave way under the blade.

His magic had been near useless. He didn't know very many offensive spells in the first place. His wand hand been knocked out of his hand, and he was lucky it hadn't snapped in the melee. Ven could do magic wandlessly, but even five days of practicing several hours hadn't helped teach him.

"I think it's about time I started to teach you how to survive here, the way only a Bosmer can. I'd start with archery, but you need basic in close quarters first. Now, while the fear of death is fresh on your mind. Retrieve your dagger and clean it." She tossed him a cloth.

"All right," Harry said. He looked at the dead elf. The wide glazed eyes of the corpse did nothing for his confidence. He pulled the dagger from his fingers. He winced at the sound it made leaving the man's stomach. He wiped the blood from the blade and walked back to Ven, who'd pulled out her own small dagger. Harry stood hip's-width apart, hand on his dagger. He used a forward grip, the blade facing Ven.

"Grip comfortable?"

"Yeah," Harry said nervously.

"Now!" Ven said, lunging at him. Harry ducked and ran. Ven followed, moving more slowly than she had in battle. She was easy to work around at first. With each successful block, she increased her speed. Soon, it was all he could do to keep her from cutting him. He couldn't keep this pace up much longer.

Harry faltered in his step, and Ven nicked him on the arm with her blade.

"Again!" Ven commanded. "On attack this time!"

Harry lunged forwards, and Ven easily tripped him, jabbing her elbow into his back and placing her dagger at his throat. He struggled to get away, but her full weight against his back was too much for his young body. Second time he'd had the problem today. "Call," she said, pressing it against his throat more firmly.

He used his legs to try to push off from the ground, but it only succeeded in making her place her knee on the back of his. "Call!" she said again.

He tried again, this time using his momentum to push his throat against the dagger. Ven pulled the dagger away, and he managed to escape.

"You show courage and creativity in battle, even from a compromised position," Ven said, sheathing her dagger. "But no good. Had you been facing an enemy, he would not have hesitated to kill you."

Harry nodded. "I understand." He wiped the sweat from his brow. He was exhausted. He'd been pushed further than he'd ever gone today. He tried to keep standing, but he was almost dead on his feet.

Ven had obviously noticed. She cast a small healing spell that erased the red line on his neck. "That's enough for right now. Why don't you go check on Alfsigr while I take care of the bodies? Curry her and set up camp. I'll be there as soon as I'm done here. We should reach Kynesgrove tomorrow."

Harry nodded again, already familiar with the chores of their travel routine. "You don't need help?" Harry asked. He really didn't want to, eyeing the corpses with no small measure of uneasiness.

"I'll take care of it." Ven said, so Harry walked away and began to work.


	6. Gladly Beyond Any Experience

**Eastmarch Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Sundas, 3 of Morning Star, 4E 202**

**Windhelm**

They'd had to stop again at Windhelm for provisions. Ven didn't like it, but they'd had no other choice, Kynesgrove being a mining village. She'd pulled her cloak and her hood tighter around herself as soon as they entered. She seemed to melt into the shadows that lined the side of the city.

"Remain close," she said. "There are elements at work here even dangerous to me." Harry, remembering the Thalmor, stayed glued to her side. The guards in blue eyed them with suspicion. Harry guessed these were the Stormcloaks she'd talked about before. What he saw of the city made him shudder a little; it was cold and windy and constantly snowing. It blew into his eyes and made it hard to see. Once again he was glad for his better gear. Everything seemed to be made of stone, and it looked dirty.

"Ulfric's too busy with the rebellion to take care of his jarldom, leaving a lot of the common folk to suffer," Ven lectured quietly, noticing his lingering gaze on the beggars littering the streets. As they walked through the city, they came upon a group of people clustered around a person in orange robes.

"Not another one," Harry heard one of them mutter.

"Another what?" Harry asked.

"Another murder of a woman," Ven said. "A serial killer stalks the streets of Windhelm. More proof of Ulfric's leadership," she snorted. "A man needs to look to the needs of his house first, before declaring his neighbor's unfit."

"Is it safe to be here?" Harry asked.

"Safe as any city in Skyrim, for the most part. I haven't declared for either side of the Civil War yet. Both sides are pressuring me to do so. What a boon the Dovahkiin would be!" she boomed, miming a Nord accent, raising her hands to the sky. "The Gods clearly show us favor!" She snorted. "Rubbish. Come on, little hawk, we're almost to the market."

He smiled a little, at the name. She'd started calling him "little hawk" in their spars when he'd managed to catch her hand and wrist with the blade in a glancing blow, cutting her skin wide open. She'd bled profusely, and even with everything that had happened it made him a little ill, but she'd grinned, showing her sharp canines, and declared that" the little hawk had talons." The name stuck.

"Aval!" She shouted across the way to the merchant, disturbing everyone in her path as they turned to look at the interruption. Most of them turned back to their business after seeing who it was, some shaking their heads. A few nords looked disgruntled, and Harry heard one mutter, "Damn elves."

Harry looked towards the man Ven'd shouted at and let out a soft gasp. He'd seen what Ven called the altmer, and he'd seen other human bandits, made up of what Ven called imperials, which was kind of confusing. They'd even stopped to share news with a breton battlemage, and he could see why everyone called him one. She'd described the dark elves to him, their grey blue skin and deep red eyes, but it was still a shock seeing one in person.

"Ven! How's my favorite bosmer?"

"Got a haul for you! No fresh meat, but I have two full sets of elven light armor, two sabre cat pelts, a bear pelt, two deer pelts, and a handful of jewelry and gems if you can unload it," she said, dropping her pack and grabbing Harry's much smaller one from him.

"You've been busy again! Gold or trade?"

"Trade. I need two months of traveling provisions for myself, and about three weeks' worth for my friend here."

He quickly looked over his stock. "Should be able to do that." While his hands were working, his red eyes slipped over to Harry. "Decided to adopt, have we?"

"Of sorts," Ven said. Harry's stomach flipped uneasily as the sharp-faced man's attention went to him. "Well go on," she pushed him forwards on the shoulder. "Introduce yourself."

"I'm Harry Potter," he said.

"I'm Aval Atheron. Well met, young Harry. Keeping Ven out of trouble?" The dunmer winked at him, and Harry felt his unease lessen.

"As much as I can," Harry said, deciding to be honest. "It's not easy."

They all laughed. "I imagine so. Not all of us can be adventurers. Sometimes Ven, I think you and Brunwulf are the only ones keeping me in business."

"I try," she said, smiling that wild grin of hers. "If I don't look out for the elves in this city, then who will?" She frowned. "Speaking of, has Suvaris had any more trouble from those idiots?"

"Stone-Fist and Once-Honored? No, thank Azura."

"Good. Let me know if they need sense knocked into them again."

"I will. Here's your goods, and a little gold to cover the difference."

She counted through them quickly. "Forty septims. Not bad." She handed Harry the small pouch. "Here, for spending money. Keep it hidden." She also handed him his much heavier pack. "And your travelling supplies." Harry near staggered under the weight and shot her a panicked look.

"Don't look at me like that. It'll be good for you," She said, shouldering her own heavy pack with ease. "Julianos be with you, Aval."

"Bye," Harry said.

"Azura guide you both. Come back soon!"

They walked in silence for a little bit before Harry turned to Ven with a frown on his face. "Where's the rest of the dunmer?"

She ruffled his hair and he batted her hand in a futile effort to get her to stop. "Observant, Harry. They're in the Gray Quarter, the oldest, most run down part of the city."

"But why?"

"On the surface, for their safety. I told you about the argonians, right?"

"They hail from the Black Marsh," he said hesitantly. Ven nodded. "And look like big lizards?"

"Yes."

"They're not allowed in the city at all."

"Why?"

"Because people have never been too good about accepting others that are different from them," Ven sighed. "It's times like this I miss Cyrodiil, the way it used to be before the Great War. It had its troubles, but the Empire is nothing like it once was. We could all live in the same city without violence. Was it not much the same in your world?"

Harry thought about Malfoy and Ron, and about how Ron had teased Hermione. The way the Dursleys had treated him, just because he had magic. "Yeah."

She nodded. "I thought so. But to give the nords a little credit, it wasn't so bad, until the Red Mountain in Vvardenfell erupted. The dunmer fled from Morrowind in hordes as the ash and smoke drove them from their homes. It's all but inhospitable now.

"Windhelm is the closest city to Dunmeth Pass, the easiest path through the Velothi Mountains from the city of Blacklight over in Morrowind. Most Dunmer, tired of running, stayed at the first settlement they reached. The Gray Quarter is overcrowded, and it's hard for nords, argonians, and dunmer alike to find work. Add the money leaving the coffers to fund the rebellion with the serial killer on top of it and you've got a right mess. For all I dislike Ulfric and his methods, I wouldn't want to deal with the mess either. Aval's done well for himself, considering, with his market outside that section of the city."

"Is that why you went to him?"

"One reason. Also, while where he gets some of his goods is suspicious, the real skeever in the cheese is Niranye. "

"That sounds elvish."

"It is. You're learning. She was the high elf glaring daggers at me the entire time."

Harry remembered her. "She hates you?"

"Not really. It's not personal. She hates losing business, and doesn't like that I tend to trade only with Aval. Also, I'm pretty certain she's working for the Thieves' Guild." She stopped walking.

Harry looked up to see they were by the gates. "Where…?"

"Candlehearth Hall. I tend to stay at the Cornerclub, but I heard there's a mercenary for hire here."

"Why are you looking for a mercenary?" Harry asked. "Doesn't that mean they're like bandits, but paid?"

"Most have a sense of honor. You pay 'em enough, they'll do all right." She walked up to the bar where the nord woman who ran it pointed up the stairs.

They moved up them. "You Stenvar?"

The man with the full beard and shaved head scowled over his mead. "Who's asking?"

Ven slapped a bag of gold down on the table. "I am. You free?"

"For how long?"

"Three months," Ven said, lips thin.

He whistled. "That'll cost you a pretty penny. What do you need, little elf?" he said, looking her over, paying close attention to where her scale armor dipped down. "Bodyguard? Treasure hunting?" He lowered his voice. "Help eliminating someone?"

"Escort," Ven said flatly. "And messenger."

"They have couriers for that."

"Armor's looking a little loose." She peered into his cup. "Your mead looks watered down, too. Courier's an easy job. And unless you're scared of a few bandits…" she trailed off.

Stenvar contemplated this for a little bit. "Not a septim less than a thousand."

"Five hundred."

"You touched by Sheogorath? Nine hundred."

"Six fifty."

"Eight fifty."

"Seven fifty and you provide your own food."

"Done. Where to?"

"Oh, no, not me. My son," she stressed the word strangely, "needs to be escorted to a little steading called Lakeview outside Riverwood, with room and board once you arrive. This letter needs to go to Dawnstar, to a dunmer named Erandur. If something happens to it, tell him to meet me at The College of Winterhold. I need his expertise. Got that?"

"Blah blah steading near Riverwood and tell the gray skin to meet you at the College in Winterhold."

"With an extra two hundred gold if you can do it swiftly and with respect."

"Fine, elf."

"You're leaving me?" Harry said quietly.

Ven knelt down, grabbing both of his shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said. "You're not skilled enough to follow me any further, and right now, with the Thalmor assassins after me, you're safer with him than you would be with me. You nearly died. They know nothing about you. You'll be fine as long as you're not with me."

Harry eyed the man sceptically, who had just let out a loud belch before shouldering his two-handed blade. "Right," he said miserably.

"We both knew it would take longer than a week. Look, Rayya and Uthgerd should take good care of you. They're my housecarl and steward, and they're both excellent warriors. Just keep practicing your magic, all right? It shouldn't take me more than a month."

"What about going back?" Harry asked. He had begun to despair his chances of ever returning to Hogwarts.

"These things take time. Even if I have to strong arm Akatosh himself, I'll get you back to Earth. Okay, Harry?"

"Okay," He said, still looking a little down.

"Look, how about I tell you a few stories of Cyrodiil and what it was like growing up in Skingrad when I get back? I drove Eyja crazy, poor Falanu too—though for some reason Eyja never liked me pestering Falanu," Ven said, tapping her chin. "Sound good?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling a bit. She ruffled his hair and then walked down the stairs and out the door. Harry ran to the window, and watched her until he couldn't see her any more.

"All right, kid, you ready to go?" the nord man said.

"As I'll ever be," Harry said.


	7. By the Pricking of My Thumbs

**Border of Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Loredas, 9 of Morning Star, 4E 202**

**Valtheim Towers**

"Why are you so quiet, boy?" Stenvar said, "Missing your mum?"

"I'm not that much of a milk-drinker," Harry shot back. The last week of travel had taken its toll on Harry, and he could feel his anger build. He felt tired, his feet hurt, and while his pack was lighter, that meant they were closer to running out of food. Stenvar had taken "you provide your own food" to mean he stole from Harry whenever they ate. He'd gotten better at defending his meals, but Stenvar became more infuriating with each passing day. And he couldn't hunt as well as Ven, so it was dry rations. Every day.

And they still had about a week's worth of travel left, by his reckoning. He wasn't that great at reading maps, but the road and the scale looked simple enough.

"How'd a Breton like you end up with an elf like her, anyway?"

Harry thought back to the cover story they'd come up with, one night at camp. "She saved me. A mad necromancer killed my parents but left me alive. She found me near dead from the cold."

The campfire crackling in the distance. Her voice, dead serious, _Never let anyone know you're dragonborn or you've seen the Greybeards. And if a dragon attacks, run and hide. If they see you absorb a soul, there'll be no hiding for you, not anymore. And you're far easier to kill than I am._

"So you owe her your loyalty," Stenvar mused.

"And my life," Harry said. "She's the first person to care in a long time," he said, thinking of the Dursleys. Which reminded him, since Stenvar was feeling chatty, "What do you have against elves, anyway?"

"What don't I have against the elves?" Stenvar answered.

"I get that there's been wars, but I still don't understand it. Ven said she's never even been to Valenwood. She was born and raised in Cyrodiil."

"You don't know about the bosmer, then? Might change your mind about your mum."

"Nothing could ever change my opinion about her," Harry said fiercely.

"You sure? Everyone knows they're all cannibals. Even the imperial raised ones."

"I don't believe you. She's nord-raised. And it's been my experience that what everyone knows isn't always true."

"Whatever, boy. Don't come crying to me when you have a friend for dinner. Literally," Stenvar tilted his head to the side, eyes to the sky. "Nord raised?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "So she says."

Stenvar moved to speak, but stilled, his hand reaching towards his iron greatsword. In front of an old crumbling tower, a redguard bandit blocked the road, adorned in what Harry was starting to learn was iron armour. "I don't have time for this," Stenvar groused. "Hey, redguard, you're taking away my easy meal ticket."

"This here's an imperial road, and you owe us an imperial toll. Give me two hundred gold, and I might let you walk by easy," the redguard said, banging a mace against her shield.

"How about I throw you into the White River to cool you down a little bit, little girl?"

"I don't think you want to do that." She gestured around her. "My friends don't like it when I'm threatened." The watchman at the top of the tower drew his bow, as did the one on the bridge and the one on the other side of the river. Harry heard the clink of armour heading down the tower.

"I think you and your friends need a little bit of attitude adjustment. Now go and run, Harry. Do what it is that little milk-drinkers do and let me earn my keep, all right?"

As Harry ran, the redguard let out a war cry. Stenvar held his ground, great sword poised at the ready. Darting into some bushes lining the side of the road, Harry watched as with a great heave of his arms, Stenvar cleaved right through the bandit's helm, crushing her skull. Harry watched in sick fascination as brain matter flew through the air. Ven was right; it did get easier, though no less disgusting.

A great frenzied cry arose from the rest of the bandits as an orc in plate headed directly towards Stenvar, while another redguard in leather, this one male, attempted to flank him. Stenvar swung his sword in a wide arc, catching the redguard in the side. The man staggered back, clutching his arm to his side as he faltered.

"You broke my ribs, you filthy nord!"

"Come back here, and I'll finish the job," Stenvar said, face grim.

"Not if I get you first!" The orc spat, before rushing at him, bringing his warhammer down on Stenvar, who brought up his sword, gauntleted hand on the flat of the blade. The loud clang resounded over the river and up the side of the mountain. The bosmeri archer continued his hailstorm of arrows.

Hiding in cover, Harry focused on his lessons _. Breath. Focus. Control. Spark_. No flames. He tried again, the litany of thoughts running through his mind. _Breath. Focus. Control. Will. Spark._ Still nothing. The orc chief forced Stenvar back a few paces, getting dangerously close to where Harry hid.

Bile rose up in his throat, sharp and thick. His heart beat furiously in time with the pounding of the blood in his ears. As if in slow motion, Harry saw the redguard get up metres behind Stenvar, drawing his blade and moving slowly. With his other hand, he downed something in a red bottle. Caught up in his clash with the orc, Stenvar did not see him. A half second later, the redguard moved more easily.

Harry tried to shout out a warning, but he could not speak. Instead, he felt cold, numb. For the first time, he felt no fear. It disappeared, hidden in a dark corner of his mind. The calm of what Ven had called the battle-haze floated through his mind, and he _reached_ , pulling with all his might.

_BREATH. FOCUS. CONTROL. WILL. INTENT. SPARK!_

His hands ignited. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, sweat dripping from his brow. He brought his hands together and rushed from cover. Moments before the redguard raised his blade to end Stenvar, he pushed his magic out, saying the words again and again under his breath.

The redguard screamed as the flames licked along his bare flesh, the magicka hot and potent. The acrid scent of burning flesh hit Harry's nose, but he was too far along to stop now. He poured out the flames, paying no attention when one of the bosmer's arrows hit him in the shoulder. Though it felt like an eternity, it was mere moments before the redguard stilled, ceasing his panicked flailing.

Only then did Harry stop, clenching his fists at his side, his knuckles white. His normally messy hair drooped, the sweat matting the hair. His blood burned inside him, burned hot on his shoulder, but he felt no pain. Only the cold satisfaction of a foe vanquished.

Harry's assault had distracted the orc. Stenvar used the second of distraction to push the orc back, freeing the blocked great sword. He swung the sword down, the orc barely catching it with his warhammer. He forced him back. The next time Stenvar swung, he caught the orc on the shoulder, nearly cleaving his arm off. One more swing, and he finished him off.

As the smell of burning flesh hit Stenvar's nose, he turned towards the breton boy. "Good lad," he murmured. The foes on the other side of the river had fled, leaving just the bosmer who was frantically firing arrows, trying to avenge his fallen comrades. "Cowards," Stenvar said.

He climbed the watchtower. As he passed the bridge over the White River, he knew the bosmer had nowhere to run. That suited him just fine. Stenvar climbed the last of the steps. An arrow came towards him, but it bounced off his steel armor. In one deft move of his greatsword, he cleaved through the bow, rendering it useless.

He'd seen the arrow through the boy's shoulder. "You know what nords do to people that dare to harm children?"

The bosmer shook his head. The sharp stink of urine drifted up towards Stenvar, and he wrinkled his nose. He punched him in the face, shattering his nose instantly. The elf fell backwards, clutching his nose. Stenvar kicked him in the side viciously with a sharp cracking sound, forcing him on his stomach. Taking his greatsword he cleaved through his ribs by his spine twice, once on each side, ignoring the screams, which petered out soon enough. He spread his ribcage wide, pulling out his lungs.

His grisly task finished, he spat on the corpse and walked down to the lad.

"You all right, boy?"

The lad just stood there, staring at the still corpse of the redguard, shivering. "Guess you're not such a milk-drinker after all. C'mon, Harry, help me get these bodies in the river, then we'll get a little bite to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, you will be, lad. You will be. Now let me get that arrow out of your shoulder," Stenvar said and, he marched him towards the fire.


	8. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Loredas, 9 of Morning Star, 4E 202**

**Valtheim Towers**

Stenvar took a small dagger and sliced the arrowhead off, jerking it out of Harry's shoulder in one swift motion. Harry felt a sharp pain in his shoulder that quickly died down to a dull throb, but it was nothing compared to the ache of his muscles or the sheer numbness that was magical (or was it magickal?) exhaustion.

Now that he could feel the thrum of the source of his magic, he wondered why he never felt it before. The way it flowed through him seemed so obvious now. He dug around in his rucksack with his other hand, pulling out one of Ven's precious healing potions and downing it in one gulp. The flesh knit together quickly. It seemed his familiarity with the way magicka worked in Skyrim was growing.

The sun was rapidly setting, the last lingering rays stretching out dying fingers over the hold. Brilliant hues dyed the sky a myriad of colors. Harry sat down next to the cooking pot outside the towers, still cold. The moons Ven had called Masser and Secunda had risen, but a mass of nasty looking clouds had quickly covered them. Whiterun Hold had so far been a little warmer than Eastmarch, but as the moons rose, so had the chill.

He stared at the crackling fire, lost in its strange, intricate dance. It was almost hypnotic, the way the fire moved. As the wind picked up, he lit the flames on his palm again in time with the swaying of the fire. He'd been lighting and extinguishing the fire for a while now, unconscious of the rhythmic repetition, unconscious of Stenvar's steady, watchful gaze.

Harry felt the heat still inside him, burning as bright as the sun and begging to be let out. He felt restless and itched to move.

"Looks like rain," Stenvar said.

Harry gazed up at the sky but said nothing, continuing to light and extinguish his hand. It seemed so easy now, outside the battle.

"Come help me with these bodies. Quick now, before the rain comes," Stenvar said.

"Fine," Harry said. The part of him hidden inside the numbness realized that maybe Ven had been trying to protect him in her own small way by keeping him away from the Thalmor bodies, regardless of what Stenvar had said about the bosmeri.

They started with the orc chieftain. Stenvar ruffled through the pouches on his belt, pocketing coin and what looked like a key. Harry methodically helped him carry him to the river where they dumped it into the rushing water with a loud splash.

The female redguard was next. Stenvar carried her corpse while Harry picked up her crushed helm, dented in like an empty fizzy drink. Bits of bone and brain and hair still clung to the helm. Harry observed all this distantly, feeling almost outside his body. He tossed it in the water alongside her.

The other corpse…Harry didn't even want to look at it, much less think about it. Stenvar picked up his unease.

"It wasn't my intention for you to have to fight," Stenvar said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence.

"I know," Harry said.

"Is this the first skirmish you've been in, boy?" Harry shook his head. "But it is your first kill?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly.

"I figured as much. Avoiding it won't make it any easier, you know."

Harry took a deep breath and turned his head. The dark skin of the redguard blackened to ash in some parts. Deep burns covered his body, and Harry's flames had cracked the leather in some places. He'd done this. He'd destroyed this man's life, even if he was a bandit.

As if thinking the same thought, Stenvar said, "He would have killed you and me over a measly two hundred gold." He turned the redguard over, showing Harry his unburned arm. "See these?"

Several rows of uneven scars covered the man's arm. "Yeah."

"Each one's a murder. You did Skyrim a service." The first drops of rain began falling from the sky. "Let's get this done, Harry. We'll make camp for the night here." Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lighting streaked across the sky.

Harry nodded, but Stenvar didn't understand. Some part of him knew that man had been a murderer. It was the other part—Harry didn't know what else to describe it as but thirst. He'd wanted to see the man dead. And when it was done, he'd felt nothing but triumph. Was that why his blood was still running hot?

With another splash, the body floated downstream. Harry watched it until it disappeared down a small waterfall.

As the rain dripped down his hood, he walked inside to the small campfire Stenvar was building. Harry rummaged through some cupboards, finding enough fresh produce for a meal. It didn't take him long to prepare some roasted apple, and he contented himself with that. Stenvar busied himself with dumping an armful of vegetables in a cauldron. One of the lettuce heads rolled in the fire, but Stenvar paid it no mind, adding salt to his concoction. "The fire's looking a little low. See if you can find some firewood."

Harry moved away from the fire, rummaging through the cabinets. He found something that looked like smooth quartz. "Stenvar, what's this?" Harry asked. "It's warm."

"A lesser soul gem. See how it shines? It's got a soul in it," Stenvar said. "They're good for enchantments."

"A soul?" Harry asked, holding the tip of it in his thumb and forefinger and wrinkling his nose.

"Aye, but from the size of it, it's probably a small animal, like a rabbit or a skeever. I'm not much for magic. You don't need it when you got good steel," he grasped the hilt of his blade, "But they're damn useful for recharging enchanted blades."

"That's not that bad, then, I guess." He slipped it in his pocket, grabbed an armful of broken chairs. One of the chairs still had a fabric seat, straw falling out of it as he dragged it to the fire, where it caught quickly.

Suddenly the room grew cold. The fire flickered low, nearly going out as the wind picked up.

"No, go away, haven't you mortals bothered me enough for an era? Eating a nice bit of cheese and drinking a nice cuppa and all the sudden people bothering me right and left, and not even properly. A scrap of fabric. Madness!" a disembodied head crowed.

Stenvar moved between the figure and Harry, but it paid him no mind, instead waving its hand and turning the nord into a little short, squat creature with large eyes, long triangular ears, and strange elongated toes upon which it walked digitigrade. It stank something fierce.

The dark figure poked through the fire, turning its head right and left. "No shrine. And it's _cold_. Who does that? I just came back from holiday, honestly. Mortals. Always so clingy. And rainy. Like dogs and fire. But this isn't High Rock." The figure stepped out of the flames, swinging a cane. "You're too late. Wabbajack's out of my hands. Or it's been handed out, I forget which."

The figure stepped into the light, showing a beard and slitted yellow eyes. His clothes were very ornate. He looked down at Harry, who was looking up at him. "Oh, a child of Akatosh. How boring." He turned to step back in his portal, before looking back. "On second thought, a welkynd. And one of two minds, no less." He rubbed his finger down Harry's scar, causing a sharp pain to radiate from it, seeming to resonate with the figure. "Yes, you could work nicely!"

"W-what could work?" Harry managed to say. "Who are you?"

"Oho, an accidental summon? Very grand! Why ruin the surprise? You know me." His voice deepened. "All mortals do," he said, serious for just a moment. "But you, better than most." He sighed. "I can already feel that grubby Vaermina's hands on you. Still mad about Shano, I suppose. She really should know better. She can't out-mad me—I'm the maddest of them all. But you're too bright of a sun to fall for that. A very grand sun, shining out over Skyrim with the freezing spring wind!"

Harry heard the sound of a faint whistle in the distance.

"That's Haskill I suppose. And I bet my tea's gone cold. Ta ta, welke. I simply must have you over for tea sometime," he said with a little laugh. "Or with my tea," he growled.

Harry grabbed him on the sleeve. "But what about Stenvar?"

"The scamp? It'll take about a week to get him back. Or leave him with a weak back. Either way, not my problem." The figure said, walking back into the portal and disappearing. Not long after, Stenvar popped back into being, hand on his head.

"I didn't get paid enough for this," he muttered. Harry just stood there, confused.


	9. To sleep, Perchance to dream

Ven _burned_. Around her, the stone cracked and crumbled under the intense pressure of the white-hot heat. The flames licked at her skin hungrily. Sweat poured from her skin, drying almost instantly as she struggled to maintain her breathing. Around her, the flames cracked and hissed angrily as they consumed priceless artifacts from the far reaches of the Empire, some even rumored to come from the planes of Oblivion themselves.

They'd thrown torches through the windows on the lower floors, aided by spells. Stone didn't burn without help. She ran up the stairs to the secondary exit, only for a beam to collapse right in front of her, blocking her exit. She backed up the stairs and into the bedroom on the top floor of her home, moving through the smoke and fire and ash blindly.

On the north side of the house, she saw her mother through her stinging eyes, hazy as her memories, a strange man standing beside her, both of them beckoning to her. She almost swore she saw leathery wings unfold behind him as they motioned for her to move towards them

"Venvahdiin!" they called.

"Mamae!" she called back, "Which way? I can't see the way out. I can't find my way out!"

It was getting hard to breathe. She choked and coughed on each inhale, each breath coming in short gasps. "Help me, Julianos," she sobbed. "Akatosh! Even Y'ffre! Please!

She was dying.

Then as if by the hands of the Nine Divines themselves, Ven saw a clear path emerge from the flames to the windows. Ven braced herself and charged, her shoulder breaking through the brittle, heated glass. The shards flayed her open, cutting through singed clothes and skin alike.

It was either pain or death. She crashed through the third story window, landing on the cobbled ground hard. She felt her arm snap cleanly; she was already casting the only healing spell she knew, meagre as it was.

She sprung to her feet quickly, running into the side alley beside Summitmist and the oddly named Nerastarel Manor, but not before she had a chance to see the ones who had destroyed her home.

High elves, some in hooded black clothes. It could only mean one thing—the Thalmor. They'd finally found her.

"This way, Ven," a dunmer whispered, pulling her along by her good arm. "Count Hassildor is already on it."

Falanu Hlaalu. Dear Aunt Falanu. "I've saddled your horse. It's at the gate. Now go!"

"But why?" She said, numb.

"Because of Rielle. Someone sold you out. The Dominion is claiming they closed the Gates. You're the last thread to snip off the tapestry of lies. First Ocato, then the Empire, now you."

"But they didn't!" Ven protested.

Falanu shot her a look. "Of course not! It's that damned Concordat. The Empire can't do a thing about it. "

"But where can I go? Not Morrowind, and the Dominion controls Valenwood and the Summerset Isles. And after what the Empire did to Hammerfell—"

"You can't stay here."

"If Eyja were alive—"

"She's not. And you won't be for much longer if you don't get out of here now! I can hear them coming. I'll hold them off." Falanu kissed her on the forehead. "It'll be all right, child."

"But Aunt Falanu—"

"GO!" she roared.

Ven ran, but she made the mistake of looking back. The Thalmor had caught up to her; while the dunmer was a brilliant alchemist, she by no means was a warrior, and in two strokes of the blade, she was dead. An arrow was coming for her next, she wasn't going to dodge in time—

**Winterhold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Sundas, 10** **th** **of Morning Star, 4E 202**

**College of Winterhold, Hall of Attainment**

Ven sat straight up in bed, breath coming in hard gasps. She ran her hand through her hair. She hadn't had that nightmare in a long time, not since the night she'd spent in Dawnstar. It had been a long time since she'd been that weak.

She wondered why she was dreaming of it now. Worry for Harry, maybe. It had been luck she'd surprised them with her fall. When that Oblivion-damned Elenwen had been at her execution, she'd thought she'd been gotten for sure, that they'd finally tracked her down.

It had been luck, pure luck that the Thalmor agents hadn't seen her face that day in Skingrad. She shivered. It still wasn't enough, killing every single one of them that she came across. One day, she was going to drive them from her precious Empire and make them rue the day they made her lose everything.

Alduin came first, though, and with that thought, she reluctantly got up from her bed. She'd arrived too late last night to get any real research done. She spared a glance to make sure her armor was folded neatly on the table, before slipping on her apprentice robes.

Time to see what Urag knew about the Elder Scrolls, and about Harry's situation. Phinis with his innate understanding of conjuration and how summoning worked might be a better chance for Harry, but with that damned Ancano there, constantly shadowing the Arch-Mage and the teachers, she couldn't risk being overheard. She really wanted to call a meeting of the masters, but Tolfdir was still busy with that strange artifact they'd found under Saarthal.

She had an idea on how to distract Ancano. J'Zargo was always up for a spot of mischief, and if she could convince him it would put him ahead in their "so-called" competition, all the better for it.

Mind made up, she walked around the Hall, looking for Drevis. She found him seated at the table, eating breakfast, and quietly explained her plan to him. She'd have to wait until Tolfdir got back, but she had set things in motion.

Now it was time to speak to the cantankerous old orc about the Elder Scrolls. He didn't have one, laughing in her face, much to her chagrin. Ven knew it wouldn't be that easy; she told him as such.

"I'm just looking for information, Urag."

"Hmph. I'll bring you everything I have on them, but I'm telling you, it's a fool's errand. It's not much." He rifled through the bookshelf behind him, pulling out two slim volumes. I better not catch you treating these books poorly, apprentice."

"I mostly work with illusion spells, you know that."

"Do you think I'm stupid? You also favor lightning spells. And don't spill anything on them!" Ven rolled her eyes, putting them in the satchel of her apprentice robes.

"What are you still standing around here for?"

"I have another question."

"I'm not getting any younger."

"Have you ever heard of a place called Earth? I mean, have you read about it anywhere?"

"You're asking about dirt," he said flatly. "I'm a scholar, not a farmer."

"I mean a plane, like Aetherius, or Mundus, or Oblivion."

"No."

"That's it? Just no? No elaboration?"

"How am I supposed to elaborate on no?"

"What about portals? Have you ever heard of a mirror that allows you to walk through different planes?"

"Ven, what's this all about?"

She cast her eyes around before Shouting quietly, " _Laas_!"

"What was that?" asked Urag. "More of those Dragonborn spells?"

"A _thu'um._ It's the same thing as Detect Life. I'm no great mage that I can cast adept level alteration spells, Urag." She cased the whole of the Arcaneum. "Good, there's no one here."

"What if I told you I met someone from Earth? Not Nirn, not Oblivion, not Aetherius?"

"I'd wonder if you'd been down to the inn again, pickling yourself in mead."

"I'm completely serious."

"I gathered that." Urag moved through the library, glancing at the shelves. "Nothing comes to mind. It might help if I had some of Shalidor's insights on Conjuration, but his writings on Mysticism might be better, for all that no one specializes in it anymore." Ven overheard him grumbling almost too softly for her to hear, "It doesn't even make sense for Detect Life to be an alteration spell; what exactly are you supposed to be altering?"

"Urag, back on track?"

"I'll look for what I can, but I'm not promising much. Besides, aren't you supposed to be tracking down those missing texts?"

"It's not like I have anything else important to do, you know."

"I didn't think so."

Ven shook her head and sat down to thumb through the books while she waited for him to find books on Harry's situation. She flipped through _Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls,_ her eyebrows raised as she read. In a short while, she finished.

"Urag? I don't get it. This book was written by a madman!"

"Aye, you read the one by Septimus Signus?" Ven nodded. "He's the world's master of the nature of Elder Scrolls, the best one you're going to get outside of a Moth Priest, and they're all in Cyrodiil, but...he left the College a long time ago. It's been a long while. Too long."

"He used to research here? Where did he go?"

"Somewhere up north, in the ice fields of the Sea of Ghosts. He left years ago. Haven't heard from him since. He went haring off after some Dwemer artifact. Became completely obsessed. He's your best bet for finding the location of an Elder Scroll, if he's still alive. I hope so."

"Sounds like you were close."

"We were friends, once upon a time."

Ven snapped the book shut. "All right. I think it's time I track him down."

"More power to you. I'll continue looking for any references to mirrors or Earth, but I'm not promising anything."

"Fine."

"And Ven?" he said to her as she was leaving.

"Yes, Urag?"

"The next time I see you, you better have those books that Orthorn stole."

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"I've wondered."


	10. Though they go mad, they shall be sane

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Morndas, 11** **th** **of Morning Star, 4E 202**

**Whiterun**

Stenvar and Harry stopped in Whiterun to stock up again. Harry had kept asking him about what had happened, but Stenvar had waved him off, muttering something about "invoking during business, never again."

It seemed he blamed himself for the appearance of the strange man. Harry had reached into his pocket after the meeting and found the strange stone gone, so he wasn't quite sure. _It's probably best not to bring that part up,_ Harry decided.

He looked around the city in interest. Whiterun reminded him of Diagon Alley, all the people out and about. Save for Windhelm, it was the biggest city he'd been to so far, and it looked in far better condition.

"Harry, I've got some business to attend to at the Keep. Stay in the Plains District. I doubt it'll take very long. I'll meet you at the Bannered Mare," Stenvar pointed to a building at the end of the district. "If you get lost, or run into trouble, find a guard." He showed him a man in yellow armour and full helm, carrying a shield adorned with a horse. With that he walked away, leaving him alone in the market.

Harry just stood there, taking it all in. Something smelled delicious. He let the chatter pleasantly wash over him. He walked over to one of the stands and bought something that looked like a scone from a pretty woman with dark hair. The taste was reminiscent of treacle tart, with an odd bit of sugar topping. The dessert reminded him of the Great Hall, a little.

A sharp pang lanced through his chest. Ron. Hermione. It had been half a month since his ill-fated venture to the library that night. He wondered what they were doing now, if they were looking for him. The new term would have already started.

"Boys, girls, dogs, elders…There's nobody I won't fight!" A young girl in red pushed a young boy in blue into Harry, knocking them both down. Surprised, Harry instantly lit one of his hands and leapt to his feet.

"Leave me alone, Braith!"

"What's the matter, little baby Lars, gonna cry?"

"What's going on here?" Harry asked, extinguishing his hand. They looked about a year or two younger than him. A third girl in green, this one with blonde hair, watched them both, but stayed out of it. "You should apologise to him, and to me." If there was one thing Harry didn't like, it was a bully. And this girl was like a female Dudley.

"Are you crazy? Why would I apologize to him? You gonna make me? You should say sorry to me, or I'll bloody your nose!"

"You can try," Harry said, voice neutral. And really, after his time in Skyrim, what was one little girl compared to bandits and bears and mages intent on killing him?

The girl reached way back with her arm and swung at him as hard as she could. Harry dodged, catching it easily. It took the wind right out of her sails, and she sagged in his firm grip. "Let me go!"

"No," Harry said firmly. "Not until you apologise."

She huffed. "Fine, baby Lars. I'm sorry. Sorry you're such a wimp," she said, muttering the last sentence under her breath.

Harry figured that was a good as he was going to get. He let her go, and she ran off, sticking her tongue out at him. He looked miserably at the remnants of his dessert on the ground.

"Let me guess—someone stole your sweetroll."

"Destroyed it, actually," Harry said with a sigh, trying to figure out if the guard was mocking him or not.

"I can buy you another one," said the boy.

"No, it's all right. I need to be getting back to the Bannered Mare, I guess."

"Oh," the boy said. "Are you here with your parents?"

"My bodyguard. I don't have any parents."

The boy looked down at his feet. "Oh. I'm Lars, by the way, Lars Battle-Born. Thanks for helping me with Braith."

"I'm Harry. You need to stand up to her. It's the only way bullies learn to leave you alone."

"I guess," Lars said shrugging, kicking his feet on the ground. "It's hard."

"Then be too fast for her to catch," Harry said, shrugging, done with the conversation. He didn't need to be reminded of Harry Hunting. He walked away, hands in his pockets.

He entered the Bannered Mare and sat down at one of the tables. A dark-skinned woman with a scar on her cheek came over, but he waved her away and pulled out one of Ven's bottles of mead and some dried venison.

He looked down at his clothes as he ate. His cloak was dusty but fine, his boots still wore well, as did his denim trousers, but his emerald green jumper clearly wasn't made for long travel, and the shoulder where he'd been injured was covered in a surprising amount of dried blood. He'd done enough laundry at the Dursleys to realize it would never get clean short of a miracle. Maybe there was a spell to clean it.

He needed more clothes. And maybe another bath. The hot springs in the Rift had been a long time ago. No one here understood. They spent days upon days in their travel clothes and didn't think anything of it.

He pulled out the hem of his jumper from his body, and felt a strong sense of loss. It was the one Mrs. Weasley had given him for Christmas. That seemed like such a long time ago, now, even though it had only been a fortnight.

Skyrim was changing him. He could run farther and faster, walk for days on end, even do wandless magic. He hadn't picked up his wand in days; it was too easily knocked out of his hands, and he didn't want it broken. Ven had given him a small dagger case lined with soft velvet to put it in, and it stayed at the bottom of the pack. He couldn't do much with first year spells. He just simply didn't know anything useful.

And with the constant cold, the winter at Hogwarts didn't seem too bad anymore, either.

He deliberately didn't think of the dead bandit, or how he'd injured the elf.

"Here's your share of the bounty," Stenvar said beside him, startling out of his thoughts, setting down a heavy bag of gold.

"My share of what?" Harry asked.

"You killed a bandit, you get a piece of the cut. The Jarl's been looking to have those bandits taken care of for a long time. With the dragon attacks, he couldn't spare the guard."

"Why split it?"

"Can't have you running to mum about not getting your share," Stenvar said, teasing in his gruff voice as Harry tucked it in his bag. "Besides, every boy needs spending money. Now get some rest, lad."

Just then, a loud commotion sounded outside the doors, A roar unlike anything Harry had ever heard before, and a familiar word, easily heard through the wooden walls. " _DOVAHKIIN_! _NIKRIIN! DIR!_ **"**

"Shor's blood, you're a bad luck charm, boy! A Daedric Prince and now a dragon?" His grin belied his complaints, but Harry barely noticed as he went pale. _The dragon knew! How did it know?_ "Stay here!" Stenvar unsheathed his bow as the inn shuddered; something large and heavy landing on the roof. He bolted out the door.

Harry felt his blood boil, and his heart pound. He felt a pulling at his heart—his soul called out to the dragon. It was the same feeling of belonging he felt with Ven. He felt the heat rise. It went against everything he had in him to hide. The battle-song pounded in his ears.

" _LAAN KRIF KRII_!"

It wasn't the first time he'd been singled out. Voldemort had killed his parents, not someone else's. He'd been wanted for something he'd had no control over.

Harry glanced around frantically. All manner of people filled the inn, from the guests who were there before, to the people trying to escape the dragon's wrath.

_You see a dragon, you run and hide._

Gryffindors didn't hide.

" _FO KRAH_!" A cold wind shook the Bannered Mare, causing the posts to creak. Harry couldn't stay around these people, not if the dragon were slain. He had to find a better place to hide. He ran out the back door.

The roar was louder out here, but the dragon had landed by the front gates, attacked by a horde in yellow. Harry winced as he saw one of guards bitten in half, the dragon snapping his teeth and shaking his head, like a more dangerous version of Aunt Marge's dog, before flinging the now dead man against Whiterun's outer wall.

But the dragon was tiring. Harry ran away, up to the Wind District. He looked around left and right, before running around a building that looked like a large upside down boat. He ran to the farthest end of what looked like a training yard, and he sat down in the corner, putting his knees up to his chest and circling his arms around them. He tucked his head down.

He was tired of running.

He waited for the shouts and roars and screams to die down, and he didn't have to look at his body to know he was lighting up like a Christmas tree, the aethereal soul of the dragon swirling around him.

It didn't matter how far he ran; it was still going to catch up with him.

He looked up to see two people staring at him in shock. Ven was going to kill him, if they didn't kill him first. So much for running.

So much for keeping it a secret.

"Harry!" The little sandy blonde-haired girl from earlier gasped. "But I heard the Dragonborn was an elf!"

A wild looking woman carrying a recurve bow and covered in war paint gave him a long hard look. "You are an intriguing little pup."

Yeah, Ven was going to kill him.


	11. Take the road singing beside the hedge

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Morndas, 11** **th** **Morning Star, 4E 202**

**Jorrvaskr**

Harry tried to run, but the red-haired woman ushered Harry inside the building with a firm grip on the scruff of his neck. She beckoned the little girl to follow them inside. She followed meekly. They moved past what looked like arrow targets, past a covered porch, intricately carved designs wrapping around the supports.

She slammed the door open. An older woman looked up, but she turned back to her sweeping, shaking her head at the disruption. At a look from the woman, the lady went down some stairs Harry hadn't realized were there.

The massive hall radiated warmth. A wide long table took up much of the room, which was decorated richly. Trophies adorned the walls: stags with massive antlers, tanned furs, weapons.

The room was surprisingly empty, considering the amount of seats at the table. The woman unceremoniously let him go, gesturing for him to sit at one of the tables, before doing the same to the girl.

Harry unconsciously adjusted his glasses, running his fingers through his hair. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out slowly. He dared a glance up. The woman gave him an intense stare, gazing right through him, as if she already knew everything. She didn't look like she was going to kill him, though, and the younger girl had been there with Lars and the bully. She hadn't spoken up, but she hadn't looked too pleased with the situation either.

"All right, whelp. Explain."

"What's there to explain?"

"Lucia said it right. The only Dragonborn I know of is an elf. In fact, she's a Thane around these parts, helped the Jarl defeat a dragon."

"Lucia?" Harry asked. "That's your name?"

"Yeah," the girl said.

Curiosity satisfied, he turned to the woman. "What's a Thane?" Harry said blankly.

"A person of some esteem in a hold."

"Oh."

"According to the legends, she's the last. So why are two running around?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about." He chanced a question. "So you know Ven?"

"A little. Invited her to be a shield-sister when she helped us kill a giant. She's deadly with a bow, almost as good as I am."

Harry relaxed a little bit, losing some of the tension in his posture. "You still haven't told me who you are. Or where I am."

"You're in the mead hall Jorrvaskr, home of the Companions. I'm Aela the Huntress."

"I'm Harry. What are the Companions?"

"An order of warriors. We fight for glory and honor, and occasionally do things for coin." She smirked. "So the question is, what are we going to do now?"

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Harry asked.

"If you were trying to hide, you weren't doing a very good job."

Harry wasn't having any of it. He'd had enough of Stenvar's mocking to have to deal with hers too, even with the odd good humor the gruff nord been in lately. "I think I do pretty well for my age."

"Well for your age, perhaps. But it was sheer dumb luck only Lucia and I saw you."

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Playing dumb won't help you. I know what I saw," Aela said.

"Does that mean you're not going to say anything?" Harry crossed his arms and met Aela's eyes squarely, before turning to Lucia.

Lucia shook her head. "I won't. When my parents died, my aunt and uncle…well, I know about secrets, and how to keep them. Even though it'd be nice to shove it in Braith's face. Now it makes sense, the way you weren't scared of her!"

"The Companions have honor. None of the Circle will say anything. You have my word." Harry visibly sagged in relief. "On one condition," Harry shot her a panicked look, "I train you."

"Why would you train me?" Harry asked, bewildered at the offer.

"Just because I'm resting on my haunches in Whiterun right now doesn't mean I'm not paying attention to what's happening in Skyrim. With Vignar, how could I not?" She put her hand on her chin, stroking it. "I've got my own problems, but that dragon was here for you," Aela said.

"And the legends…You can kill a dragon, but the World-Eater just brings them back to life. Only the Dragonborn can kill them permanently.

"Now Ven—Ven's a seasoned warrior. She uses the _thu'um_ on instinct. But you're a baby wolf, biting with milk teeth and running when you can't find purchase."

Harry frowned. "I can't stay here."

"And why not?"

"I'm heading home. We only stopped in Whiterun—"

"We?" Aela interrupted.

"Yes, 'we'" Harry said irritably.

"Well, you know Ven—I'd like to hear the tale on that one—but it's clear she's not here. She'd have been in the thick of things with us. Your guardian is not much of one."

"He said he had a bodyguard," Lucia piped up. "And that he was an orphan like me."

"A hireling, then. A mercenary." She snorted. "Amateurs. Just proves my point. I'd be doing you a great disservice if I left you in their capable hands."

"He's done pretty well," Harry felt compelled to say something, Stenvar had at least _tried_ , even though Harry had remained cross with him for much of the time—

"He?" She laughed, loud and robust. "There's the problem right there. Men, they think with their hearts. It's all about straightforward charging, no finesse. Women, we think with our heads."

"But!" Harry began to say, but as he brought his mind back to the Bannered Mare, he really couldn't say anything against it. It wasn't his fault, though. The inn had been relatively safe. Stenvar didn't know it was full of people, that it would be bad if a dragon attacked and he were discovered, that his instincts had been warring back and forth. It was a right mess.

"And just where is home, Harry?" Aela asked

He moved to speak, but shut his mouth. He began again, "It's far from here." Not an untruth.

"How far?"

Harry was tired of the questions. "That's none of your business. Can I go now?"

"We haven't settled things."

"And if I called the guard?"

"After the dragon attack? Are you kidding? They're still a disorganized mess."

Harry conceded the point. "So I'm to be a prisoner here. You'd really tell everyone if I left? Convince the guard that I was Dragonborn?" An idea popped into Harry's head. "They'd call you mental. Everyone knows the Dragonborn is an elf, right?"

"We've hunted that trail already. I saw you. Lucia saw you."

"Sure. You saw me cast a spell. Like a fire cloak, right? Except it was a magelight cloak." Harry nodded to himself. "Yes, that's it quite clearly. I obviously can't Shout."

"Don't think you'll get out of this that easily, whelp," Aela said, narrowing her eyes.

"Honestly, unless you can prove it, I think I'm free to go." He slid his chair back from the table and made to leave.

Lighting fast, Aela unsheathed her blade and leapt at Harry, grinning wolfishly. Harry, hearkening back to his lessons with Ven, drew his golden dagger and brought it up just in time to block her strike, if barely.

"Fancy footwork."

"Thank you."

"I recognize it. Ven's been training you, hasn't she?"

"Maybe." Harry thrust the dagger at Aela's unguarded midsection, but she brought the blade low, catching his attack on the crossguard. She pushed him back, her superior strength knocking him to the ground easily. He jumped up quickly, shooting a jet of flames at her. She leapt to the side, sweeping one of her feet low and nearly tripping him as he dodged.

"Strong use of magic for a youngling, but I could have killed you twice now," Aela commented casually.

"I know," Harry said, face grim. "You have longer reach."

"So if you know, why are you still fighting?"

"Go down without a fight? I don't think so," Harry grinned. The fight reminded him more and more of his training with Ven. Fighting like this exhilarated him; while there was an element of danger, he knew she wasn't trying to kill him, and out of everything, he missed the training sessions with Ven the most. All Aela needed to do was call him little hawk, and he'd be home.

"You know, you've got spirit. If you joined the Companions, you wouldn't be youngest. That honor belongs to Farkas and Vilkas."

"Who?"

"They're out on business with Ria. They've been Companions for a long time, since they were younger than you." They clashed and broke apart again, Harry breathing hard, winded, but Aela wasn't even affected.

"No," Harry gasped.

Without his knowledge, she'd backed him against the wall. Harry glared at her, standing proud, defiant. She held her blade to his throat. "If you're going to be so careless about what you are, you need more training. A drunken imperial on skooma could have found you. And while you've got a few skills, I could have killed you many times over. Your training is clearly unfinished."

"I need to get back. I can't stay here. And I'm not careless," he muttered petulantly.

She sheathed her blade. "It would be better, but I'm not asking you to stay here. I'm going with you. Skjor's still here; he can deal with the jobs for a while."

"You'd do it without pay? With the threat of dragons and Thalmor and who knows what else?" Harry said.

"Don't you know anything? Nothing is more glorious than the hunt, the thrill of taking down something larger than you, whether it be dragons or an organization of elves that need to keep out of Skyrim's business."

Harry knew better than to question serendipity. She was willing to keep his secret, guard him, even train him. She could have killed him several times over, and the Companions were obviously well known and reputable if Lucia hadn't contradicted her. "Fine."

"Great!" Aela slapped her thighs. "Now let's go find that guardian of yours. I've got a means to give him a piece of my mind."


	12. Interlude - The tide rises, the tide falls

The Void rumbled, yawned, and stretched, shifting in his slumber. Stars swirled, enveloped by his nothingness. A blinding light curled up in the center, seemingly nestled tightly. A merry figure came whistling through it, singing a song as they strolled.

"Oh, The Fox went out one winter night,

And prayed for the moons to give him light,

For he'd many a mile to go that night,

Before he reached his den, O!

Den, O! Den, O!"

"Shhh, you'll wake him!"

"Would that be a bad thing, truly?"

"Not yet!" the second voice hissed. "Alduin's not done! Something's changed."

"What do I care?

"Yes, yes, you've always had your own agenda, we know. Do not think we aren't wise to your ways."

The first figure continued whistling the jaunty tune. "Stars change all the time. Everything changes. The only absolute is there are no absolutes!"

"A clear logical fallacy," A third voice drawled. "Self-contradictory. A paradox."

"Shut up," said the second. "Are you going to repeat synonyms _ad nauseum_?"

"Moving the pawns on the chessboard without my permission again?" said the third.

"Ah, chess!" said the first figure. "What a quaint game!"

They ignored the cheery voice. "Why do I need your permission? It was my idea!"

"The others are getting suspicious, of course. You would have caught that, if you dared pay any attention to anything but yourself."

"It's another break," the second began, but found themselves unable to speak.

The third figure glared. "We do not speak of such things."

"I still don't understand why you consider yourself in charge."

"Or could it be," said the first, "That even we don't know?"

The others just looked at the figure. "He won't realize that it's missing right?" the second said worriedly.

"Of course not! Don't you trust me? I trust you." the third figure said. The second fidgeted. "Wait, what's wrong?"

"What could it do in the wrong hands?" the second figure asked quietly.

"Don't tell me you lost it! You are a fool!"

"I told you! Don't you see? You're nowhere near the endgame!" the cheery voice said over the sound of the two's quibble. The two ignored the figure, stalking off into the Void, presumably for privacy. Now that the others had left, the singer shook their head and continued on their way, singing:

"For he'd many a mile to go that night,

For he'd many a mile to go that night,

Before he reached his den, O!"


	13. Westron Wind, when will thou blow?

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Morndas, 11** **th** **of Morning Star, 4E 202**

**Jorrvaskr**

Aela busied herself by packing, moving around the room with purpose. He'd noticed that about her, how she moved with no action wasted. _The living quarters at Jorrvaskr were actually quite nice_ , he thought, though the lack of windows unnerved him.

Harry took this time to talk to Lucia. "You really won't tell?"

"Of course I won't! I told you about my aunt and uncle."

"What about them? What did they do?"

"They…they kicked me off our farm when my parents died."

Harry's anger began to build. "Why?"

"Lots of reasons," she took a deep breath. "A secret for a secret. Our savings, my inheritance I guess now. It wasn't much, just a few hundred septims, but they knew about it, told me I had to give it to them, or they would kick me out." Her face darkened, and she looked down at her feet, wringing her hands. "I know where it's hidden, and I'm never going to tell them," she said fiercely. "Never."

"Why didn't you tell them anyway? Harry said, curious.

"You don't know my uncle. He'd have still kicked me out, and he'd of took the money too. They'll never find it."

Harry nodded. "I understand. Maybe not exactly, my aunt and uncle took me in after my parents died, but I lived in a cupboard under the stairs. All I got for Christmas was fifty-pence." He fished it out of his pocket, surprised it was still there. He flipped it with his fingers, the Queen and Britannia looking off in the distance. He sighed at the reminder, before slipping it back in his pocket.

"Is that money? It looks odd." Lucia tilted her head. "What's Christmas?"

"A day of gift-giving. At Hogwarts, we have a feast, and I don't really know. It's just Christmas," he shrugged.

"It's like what the Bretons call Saturalia, then. That's more of a High Rock holiday, but occasionally people in other provinces celebrate it. When did you find out you were… you know?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Oh."

"Yeah." The silence stretched out for a few minutes, awkward. Thankfully, Aela finished preparing for her journey. She called out something, and a low gruff voice answered her back.

"Ready, Harry?"

"I need to get my bag from the Mare."

"Very well. Lead on, Harry."

The transition from the roaring fire in the mead hall to the chilled outside was a little rough, but Harry ignored it, as was becoming his habit. The sun still shone brightly in the sky. Lucia followed them down the stairs, shooting one last look at Harry, before running to the tree and sitting underneath its shade. They walked from the Wind to the Plains District and inside the Bannered Mare.

Thankfully, his bag still leaned against the chair he'd been sitting in. He rifled through it, making sure everything was still there, but especially, the small amount of gold he'd managed to accumulate. Even the bag of gold on the table was still there.

As much as Ven had lectured him on thieves…He hadn't been thinking clearly, and made several mistakes. _Mindfulness, Harry, Mindfulness of your surroundings. You may panic, but you have to force it down, force yourself to think and observe._

He was an idiot. Aela was right. _Sheer dumb luck_ , an echo of McGonagall.

He counted the gold in his bag. One hundred septims. That brought him up to one hundred forty.

"Harry! There you are!"

Harry turned so fast at the voice he nearly made himself dizzy. Stenvar waved at him from across the room, skin bright red on his arm from a cold burn. They walked over to his table.

"I've been looking all over for you, lad. I told you to stay here—" he began, but Aela cold cocked him in the face, knocking him to the ground, where he lay still.

"Did you have to do that?" Harry asked, nudging the prone figure with his foot.

"I told you we were going to have words," said Aela.

"Words," Harry repeated. "I'd hate to hear what you call fighting," he said. Aela just cracked her knuckles, moving her head from side to side and doing the same thing to her neck. "You know he doesn't know," Harry whispered.

"No excuse for not doing his job as a bodyguard. You never leave the charge, not even for the glory of fighting a dragon, especially when there are plenty of others to fight. It's not cowardice to protect others. Come on."

"We can't just leave him here!" Harry protested.

"And why not?" Harry shot her his best disapproving glance, using all that he had learned from McGonagall.

Aela gave in. "Fine," She grabbed his half-filled flagon and dumped it on his face, causing him to sit up, sputtering and gasping. "C'mon, dead weight. Harry seems to think you've got some use, so you're coming with us."

Even Harry heard the unspoken _for now_.

"Who are you, woman?" Stenvar said, rubbing the side of his face, looking her up and down. "What did I do to deserve that? You're not one of the wenches—"

Aela threw his pack at him, hitting him in the stomach, causing him to grunt. "As if I'd lie with you." He blinked rapidly, still in a daze, as she sauntered past him, Stenvar looking avidly at the sway of her hips. Harry blushed and looked away, following her outside the building.

"Wait, woman," they heard him shout, "You're taking my meal ticket!"

She paid him no attention, walking on. Harry glanced back, but she kept on going. They walked towards the gate, Harry getting his first look at the dead dragon. It just lay there, bones bleached white, no flesh. Its head was the size of his body almost, with wickedly sharp teeth. And he was one of the ones that was supposed to kill those things? Harry closed his eyes, exceedingly glad for Ven. Seeing one of them up close without the barrier of distance, he wondered, _How can she fight those things all the time?_

As they walked past the blacksmiths, Harry heard a guard tell the woman working at the forge, "Another three dead. Two guards and a ranger." He winced.

"I said wait, girl!"

Aela spun sharply as Stenvar approached him, giving him a sharp poke in his arm. "My name is Aela. I am a grown woman. You will refer to me as such. I am a member of the Companions; you will give me the respect I deserve. Understood?"

"Fine, woman! You still haven't told me what you're doing with Harry."

"I am doing _your_ job. You left him alone, during a dragon attack of all things!" He began to speak and she cut him off. "You have no excuse for not doing the job you were paid to do."

"Now listen here," he said.

"No, you listen. I'm escorting Harry wherever he needs to go. You can come along, or you can stay." She extended her arms and swept it towards the gate. "Either way, we're leaving. Come on, Harry."

Harry met Stenvar's eyes, shrugging his shoulders. He really didn't have anything to say. Scowling, Stenvar walked behind them. "I'm not splitting the pay," he grumbled.

"I'm not asking you to," Aela said.

They made it a fair way outside the city; the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky. The plains turned into scrub, and then trees as they followed the path through the foothills. Suddenly, Aela crouched. Harry saw her sniff the air, much like a dog. "First lesson," she said softly. She gestured for him to come forward. "Quietly now," she whispered. "See it?"

A deer had crested over the hill. "Yeah."

"We're downwind."

"How do you know?"

"Other than the fact the deer hasn't run away?" Aela said wryly. "Feel the wind on your face. It's sensitive to it. Close your eyes, feel the way it's blowing. Turn your head until it's blowing directly at you." She waited until he had done so. "See?"

"Yes," Harry said

"Now check it with your ears. Does it sound the same?"

Harry turned his head to the left and then the right. "Yes."

"Good. When you're hunting or tracking, it's always important to know which way the wind is blowing. Most people don't use their senses. They go around half-blind all the time, thinking sight is the only thing that's important. We may not have the heightened senses that animals do, but we do have them, and they can be used.

"Now the wind can shift at any moment. Every time it does, I want you to tell me. Now try to approach the deer."

Harry did. He'd barely gone three paces before a sharp _crack!_ The deer's ear twitched, her head popped up from where she'd been feeding, and she looked directly at them before bounding off through the trees.

"That's not to say sight's not important. Lesson two is how to walk quietly. We'll work on that later. That ridge half hidden is a good place to set of camp." She turned to Stenvar, daring him to challenge her. Harry didn't think she even knew his name; she'd certainly never asked for it.

Stenvar didn't though, so they made their way there and settled down for the night.


	14. Theirs but to do and die

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Fredas, 14** **th** **of Morning Star, 4E 202**

**Road from Riverwood to Falkreath**

It was almost dawn. The first rays of light peeked over the horizon. As he waited, a thought had come to Harry that most of the people in Skyrim were spread out. Other than the villages he'd come across, most were a few families who had gathered together in two or three houses in small settlements that didn't even show up on the map.

Riverwood hadn't been much to speak of. In fact, it had reminded him of Ivarstead in both size and function, being a mill town. It had been bustling, busy people going about their daily routine. Hardly anyone spared them a glance.

Aela explained one of the reasons. Apparently, it was the main trade road from Cyrodiil to Skyrim. The Silver Road ran from the Imperial City through the Jerrall Mountains from Bruma to Helgen, through Riverwood, and finally to Whiterun, the breadbasket of Skyrim. Being the centre of the province, Whiterun had the market on both import and exports, since nearly anything that wasn't shipped by ocean came through there.

She said it was a good place to get information because of this, but this time they were just passing through. She had taken time to buy him a bow suited for his draw, showing him what to look for, and arrows that fitted to his arm length. He offered to use his money, but she wouldn't hear a word of it. He finally bought a new change of clothes, placing his others in his pack, if only for sentimental reasons.

Then they were on the road to Lake Ilinalta. Because so many people traveled on the road, it was heavily patrolled by imperial and hold guards, and they had very few problems, giving him time to think.

The past few days, Harry had been doing a lot of thinking about his situation. Three weeks. He was fast coming up on the idea that he wasn't getting home, not anytime soon. Things had been happening too quickly for him to really sit down and think about it, but he finally realized he might be here to stay. He'd tried to be patient, but he was slowly losing hope.

Skyrim was nice, but it wasn't home. Hogwarts was—the only place he'd ever felt at home. He missed Ron and Hermione and Hedwig. He missed going to classes, the warmth of Gryffindor Tower. The twins' antics. He even missed Potions with the Slytherins,

But as he searched his feelings, he was learning to put that away. No one called him the Boy-Who-Lived here. He had a destiny, but he shared it with someone, someone that had done her best to look out for him. He liked Skyrim. He felt…free. No homework, and he wondered how anyone could live somewhere like Privet Drive when the stars here shone so brightly. The closest he'd ever been to seeing clear stars was at Hogwarts, and even there they didn't shine like this. No tell-tale purple-orange glow of light pollution.

Once you got past the death and destruction, Nirn was actually kind of brilliant. Though the lack of indoor plumbing took time to get used to. And he still had yet to bathe.

He put away his thoughts as he saw his quarry move past. He crouched, lowering his center of gravity. He made sure to breathe through his nose, moving on the outside of his foot from heel to toe, scanning the ground for twigs and dry leaves. He drew his bow as he slowly moved within range, constantly checking the direction of the wind. Not only did the scent carry, it would have an effect on how true the arrow would fly.

Closer he moved, tracking his prey. Both eyes open, he pulled the arrow back knuckled between his fore and middle fingers, maintaining a good posture. His arm in the correct position, he loosed his arrow, striking the rabbit behind the foreleg. It let out a sharp cry, hopping for a few dozen metres before keeling over, back legs still kicking.

Aela looked at him pointedly, so he grabbed the rabbit in his hands and took a deep breath. He took its head and gave it a sharp wrench, breaking its neck and killing it instantly. He brought it to Aela, who inspected it quickly, before giving Harry a sharp nod. "Your aim was true."

"You have vanquished your mighty foe! A mug of mead for all!" Stenvar bellowed. "Ah, Harry Bunny-Slayer, that sounds like a right proper nord name." Harry could do nothing but rub his neck, color showing on his face. The dark purple-yellow bruise still lingered on his face, and Harry contented himself with that for his teasing. He clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a wink. "Good job, lad."

"You'll make a fine hunter one day," Aela agreed. "I want you to prepare the rabbit for the cooking. We'll make a light meal, then break camp. According to the map, it's about a half-day's walk to where the oaf was supposed to drop you."

Harry glanced down at the dead rabbit in his hands and sighed. Aela had demonstrated this a few times, and he'd seen both her and Ven do this to larger game, but this was his first time doing it on his own. He laid it down on a bit of flat rock. He cut the arrow at the head and pulled it out. He chopped off its feet and its tail with his dagger, before doing the same to its head.

He lifted the fur at the stomach, making a nice clean cut to its hide. He cut from groin to neck, peeling the fur off with a sharp tug. He gutted the rabbit next, taking great care not to pierce the intestines. He pulled them out, putting them aside, before cutting out the heart and lungs. He grabbed a little water from his bag and rinsed it clean.

He still stared at his hands for the longest time. He'd gotten used to blood staining his hands. With animals, it was easier, and he didn't quite feel as numb. Aela gave him another nod and a smile of approval. The hide wasn't perfect, but it would do, and they might be able to get a little gold for it, or use it to mend a tent or their bedrolls.

Another thing about Aela was she was far better at preparing meals than Stenvar. They'd learned that when they argued over who would cook, and Aela lost that first night. Now Harry knew why he was always stealing his. The thought made him smile a little, but he still had trouble eating meat. Even the smell of the rabbit roasting unsettled him.

They ate quickly; one rabbit wasn't much for three people, but it would do, and they continued on the road until they came to a split. Three stones stood in a circle, looking out over the White River. "You should ask for their blessing, Harry."

"What?"

"They might grant you a gift, should you touch them, Harry. They're aligned to the stars, and they amplify the constellation you were born under."

"But I don't know which sign I was born under," Harry said.

"Then touch the one that feels most comfortable to you," said Aela

"The Warrior Stone," Stenvar said proudly. "It takes mettle and courage."

"The Thief Stone," Aela said. "For even if you aren't a thief, the gift of stealth is a great one, and not to be underestimated."

Harry looked from one to the other. Neither one seemed to fit him. The one in the middle drew him, however, and he slowly moved towards it, touching it with the barest of fingers. It lit up, and he felt invigorated.

"The Mage Stone," Stenvar said, scoffing. "Should have known."

Aela stayed quiet, pensive. After a long moment, she said, "That makes sense."

They continued their journey. They didn't come across anything of note other than a mudcrab, which Stenvar quickly dispatched with his greatsword and a satisfying crunch. "Horrible creatures," he muttered.

Aela's words rang true; by midday they'd approached a large building, easily visible several metres away. Stenvar whistled. "Your mum's makes a pretty septim, doesn't she? I knew I could have gotten more."

"Mum?" Aela said, puzzled. "I thought you said your parents are dead."

"I was hired by his adoptive mum. She's a wood elf. Apparently, his parents were killed by a crazy necromancer. Hmph. Magic."

"I wonder…?" Aela said, tapping her chin. Then her expression cleared. "Ven. It's Ven, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"I thought she had better judgment than that," Aela said.

"In all honesty, we didn't have much of a choice." Harry kept quiet about the elder scroll. Aela didn't have to know _everything_.

As they approached the building, Harry saw that it wasn't as large as he first assumed. From the path leading to it, he could see a flat porch leading to the inside of the top floor. The back of the house had a tall tower.

Moving closer, two women came out and approached them. One was clearly a redguard, and the other one... "Aela. You aren't welcome here. Go away."

"Is that you, Uthgerd? What in Oblivion are you doing here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? I'm the steward here. You got no business here. Go away. I'm not going to say it again, Companion." She drew the large sword from her back. Following her lead, the strangely dressed redguard did the same, pulling out two dangerous looking curved blades.

"An Alik'r warrior," Aela murmured. "Straight from the Alik'r Desert in Hammerfell. This might be difficult."

At the exact same time, the two women rushed at each other, the one called Uthgerd bringing out her greatsword, Aela drawing her bow and notching it quickly, firing an arrow easily deflected by the flat of Uthgerd's sword.

As Uthgerd brought her weapon down and Aela brought her dagger out, Harry threw caution to the wind and leapt in between the women, flinging his arms out to both sides.

His vision went white.


	15. In between jumps there is no-Time

**Falkreath Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Fredas, 14** **th** **of Morning Star, 4E202**

**Lakeview Manor**

Harry fell to his knees on the grass, both arms falling to his side. His vision swam; he saw stars. He lurched forward, catching himself on his hands. He waited for the blow, but it never came. He heard the sound of things falling to the ground. Instead, his eyes flicked tentatively to the left and right. Both the women laid unmoving, arms and legs at their sides. He could see the rise and fall of their chests, though.

He pitched over on his side. His eyes fluttered closed, his last thought, _Oh, good._

—

Stenvar shook his head, took his hand off his sword hilt, and walked over to the boy, making sure he was still breathing. The desert woman watched him carefully, but as his hand left his blade, so did her scimitars go back to her sides, sheathed.

The boy was fine. That done, he fished around in his bag and pulled out a grubby and stained sheet of paper. Dirty fingerprints and spots of food and drink dotted it, but it still maintained its seal unbroken: a thorned rose, a sheaf of wheat crossed with a honey ladle, and the mark of County Skingrad, a large and small crescent facing one another.

"Good lass," Stenvar said, handing the letter over to the redguard. "You must be Ven's housecarl, Rayya."

"I am," she said, her posture tense.

"I got a message for you. I trust you're not going to be unnecessarily hostile like your friend here?" Stenvar said.

"She's hot-headed, but I've never seen her act this way before, not without due cause. Your friend must have done something to upset her greatly."

He snorted. "I wouldn't call us friends. Are you going to read it or did I walk from Windhelm for nothing?"

Rayya thumbed the seal of the stained letter, her expression dubious. She cut through it, unfolded it, and began to read. Her eyebrows shot straight up into her wrapped hood. "Is this true?"

"Aye, there's the lad right there, sleeping peaceful on the ground."

She looked from the letter to the dark-messy haired boy, and back to the letter. "I best get him inside to a bed, then."

"What should we do with these two?" Stenvar asked. "Get something to restrain them."

"I'll get some rope," Rayya said at almost the exact same time. Their eyes met, and they held each other's gaze for a long moment.

Rayya picked Harry up, easily carrying him in her arms. She carried him inside and laid him on the master bed downstairs, wrapping blankets around him in the cold Skyrim winter. She grabbed a coil of rope from its hook on the wall, hurrying back out.

They bound Uthgerd first. She'd been out for blood. They bound Aela in case of retaliation.

"Their eyes are moving," Rayya said. "Uthgerd, can you hear me? Look to the right twice." The paralyzed woman did. They waited for a bit longer. Stenvar tapped his foot impatiently.

"That's a potent paralysis spell. Longer than I've seen," observed Stenvar.

"Yes," said Rayya. "In my experience, it has been much the same."

Uthgerd remained trapped, but Aela began to twitch, her head jerking to the side as she struggled to move to a sitting position with her arms bound. She began to make strange keening noises as her throat slowly relaxed, her vocal muscles gaining the ability to carry sound again. "Save me from foolish young whelps," she muttered. "How does Harry fare?" she asked, voice strained.

"He slumbers. He looks well, but until he wakes, we will not know how the young master fares," Rayya said.

"He should have minded his own business," said Aela.

Stenvar laughed. "You _have_ met the boy? He could no more let the two of you fight one another than he could have let that orc injure me, or let you leave me behind. He's a brave one, a child unlike any I have ever met."

"Brave but stupid," Aela said hoarsely.

"If you would, I want to know why Uthgerd was so incensed at your arrival."

"I am a member of the Companions. If you are unfamiliar with us, we are the closest Skyrim equivalent of the Fighters' Guild. We do what needs doing." Rayya nodded, so Aela continued. "Our mead hall, Jorrvaskr is in Whiterun. I've known Uthgerd for years.

"Our enmity began when she tried to join. It was once tradition to send the initiates against the unseasoned members of our guild, to prove their worth. Sindri, his name was. He was young, but he had proven his worth to us, and he was a very capable fighter.

She snorted. "Uthgerd was better. They clashed together fiercely, going at it hammer-and-tongs. Soon, the boy grew winded, and I ended the spar; Uthgerd was clearly the superior fighter. They'd scored hits on each other, but a sharp strike against his shield had left his arm broken and his shield useless. She kept going; I called stop a second time.

"She didn't stop. The best I gather, she'd let the battle frenzy overcome her reason. I leapt between them, but by that point, it was too late. She'd slaughtered him in cold blood in a spar meant to test her battle prowess.

"After that, do you think we were going to let her join? She holds a grudge for that; for me especially, since I was the one who oversaw her initiation."

Rayya just pursed her lips and made a noncommittal sound.

Aela glared at the woman bound to her right. "And now she's almost done it again with Harry, just because she can't control herself."

Uthgerd still couldn't move, but the look she was attempting at Aela was clearly a glare.

A sound from the house had the three that could move their heads turning them in that direction. Harry staggered out of the house, palm on his forehead, wincing in the bright light. The redguard was at his side in a flash, handing him a potion in a blue bottle. He took it, puzzled. "It's one of Thane Ven's creations, Harry. I have seen her in this state many times after training her illusions. It should restore your magicka."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Rayya," the turbaned redguard said.

"Well met, Rayya."

"Well met, young Harry."

Harry downed the potion, grimacing. It tasted of flowers and grass, instead of flowers and bread, and it had a sharp aftertaste that reminded him of petrol. Immediately, he lost the shaky tingling feeling in his muscles, and his sharp headache dulled down.

"All right. So you've all made peace, then?" Harry asked.

"For the most part, Harry," Stenvar said. "Aela was just telling us why the nord woman went into a frenzy."

Harry walked over to Aela. "Are you all right? Why are you tied up?"

She tossed her head at him, able to do little else. "I'm fine, whelp. You hit us both with a nice paralysis spell, though. Even with my w—," she began again, "Even with my skill, it took me a long time to break free. I'm more worried about you. That was a stupid thing you did."

"I know," Harry said tiredly. "I wasn't thinking."

"Damn right you weren't!"

"I'd add to it, but it sounds like you're getting enough of a lecture," Stenvar chuckled. "Better you than me."

"Who's this, then? Harry said, studying Uthgerd curiously.

"Her name is Uthgerd," Rayya offered.

"Right, right, I remembered something like that. So why isn't she talking?"

"She's still under the effects of the paralysis spell," said Aela.

"She is?" Harry studied her prone form curiously. Her arms and legs had been locked in position to her side, her body ramrod straight. He recognized the spell. "All right then. I'll be back in a moment. Where's my bag?"

Stenvar pointed a short distance away. "There, lad."

Harry rooted around for a very familiar box, taking it out and removing his wand. He walked back to Uthgerd. He waved it in a strange motion, before muttering the countercurse. Immediately, Uthgerd struggled against the rope binding her.

"Uthgerd?" Rayya prompted. "Do you have anything to say?"

"I didn't mean for him to die! Why would I want that? This place was supposed to be safe, a new start. And then some Companion comes walking up like she owns the place. What was I supposed to do?" she asked helplessly. "I asked her to leave, and she didn't. Didn't declare her purpose for being here, either."

"Any idiot with eyes could see I had a child with me."

"And I'm supposed to read your mind? Well I wasn't expecting him to leap in like that! I can't just stop it midswing, so don't you dare try to blame this one on me!"

"So you admit you slaughtered Sindri in cold blood?" Aela challenged.

Harry rubbed his temples, his headache building. "Stop it."

They ignored him, firing insults and accusations back and forth at one another.

"I said STOP IT!" Harry yelled, his anger getting the best of him. Surprisingly, both of them did, looking at him.

"I'm eleven, and even Malfoy and I don't fight like this," Harry said. "You are grown women. Act like it!" He turned to Rayya."I'm feeling a bit peckish. You have anything to eat around here?"

"Yes, Harry, and we can discuss my duties as we eat. I'm Ven's housecarl, and as such, I guard everything she considers hers—and yes, that means you—with my life." They turned towards the house, heading inside.

Harry looked back for just a moment. "Stenvar? Could you cut them loose when they begin to act like reasonable beings?"

"Sure thing, Harry." Stenvar said, shaking his head. "Sure thing." He turned a lascivious eye and winked at the bound women. "Is this the part where you kiss and make up?" Stenvar leered. Aela and Uthgerd simultaneously shot Stenvar a glare that could kill dragons.

"You'd do best to watch your tongue," Aela said.

"You want to say that again when my hands are untied, softgut?" Uthgerd said.

"Ah, so you can agree!" Stenvar said. "Now I had a thought—"

"That's news," Aela muttered.

Stenvar laughed, a full deep hearty sound. "You aren't the first to say that. I wouldn't be a proper nord if I couldn't handle a few insults, woman." Uthgerd scoffed. Stenvar waggled a finger at her. "Now, Harry's going to be staying here for a while. And by Talos, the little milk-drinker's grown on me. Like Namira's rot on a corpse. So what I propose is this: I'll untie you. You don't kill each other, for Harry's sake. And ol' wots-her-name, Van, the elf? Do we have an accord?"

"If it'll get me out of these ropes, I don't care, so long as she doesn't attack me first."

Stenvar turned a pointed gaze on Uthgerd. She didn't say anything. He crossed his arms. Still nothing. He began tapping his foot. "A true nord never misses the chance to test her worth," she said finally.

"Not the right answer. Surely as steward, you're sworn to take care of things, the land and house as such? The lad, Harry, is by all rights, her son." He grinned as he saw her eyes widen. "Thought that would get you. And Aela is his friend. So you're out of luck. Now do we have an accord?"

"For now," Uthgerd allowed. "We'll see when Ven gets back."

"Good enough for me." Stenvar grabbed Aela's bindings and untied her before doing the same to Uthgerd.

"Barbarian."

"Bitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named Sindri but the incident with the Companions is canon, and is hinted to be why Uthgerd the Unbroken spends all her time in the Bannered Mare brawling and drinking. Sindri and Brokkr were two brother dwarves that forged magical items for the gods in Norse mythology. It can mean either small or spark, and both have meaning here.


	16. For lo! my own shall come to me

**Falkreath Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Sundas, 27** **th** **Sun's Dawn, 4E 202**

**Lakeview Manor**

A month had passed, and then another. He'd now been in Skyrim two months, since December or Evening Star as they called it here. Just…waiting. Every morning he woke up before dawn, making his way downstairs with Rayya for training. She continued with the basics Ven had taught him with the dagger, adding elements with live sword blades. The punishing pace kept Harry on his toes and didn't give him a moment of rest.

This morning, she was especially tenacious. Her dual curved blades attacked relentlessly in a flash of steel. Harry parried as best he could, but she managed to catch his arm with the tip of her curved sword, slicing it open. He caught her blades on the flat of his, holding the hilt and tip and pushing back with all his might, staggering her a little. He breathed in through his nose, regulating his breathing, but he was tiring. She was holding back on him.

"Good, Harry. First form."

He lifted the curved sword, his arms trembling. He ran through the forms. Guard. Parry. It seemed no matter how much he improved, she was always better. He finished the set, panting heavily.

"You're getting sloppy. Again."

He ran through them again, and a third time before she was satisfied. Sometimes Harry wondered what she was after. Upon finding out he was eleven, she'd eyed him speculatively and muttered about fate. Her training was harsh but satisfying. Two months hadn't been enough to make him a proficient in the sword, but he had grown in skill. It was almost like a dance, the way the sword sang as it whistled through the air.

Harry climbed the alchemy tower, opening the trapdoor to the first rays of a warm spring sun. The light glittering over Lake Ilinata amazed him, the beauty at this early hour. The height over the water made him think of the lake at Hogwarts, made him think of flying. His heart jumped at the thought of soaring through the skies again.

He wondered what his Gryffindor self would say if he could see himself now. His messy hair had grown a few inches, giving him a rugged look. His torn and dirty clothes added to the appearance of a young mad hermit. _Were there even young hermits?_ It didn't matter, really. He had a wicked looking scar on his shoulder now too, where the arrow had gone through, and many more cuts and scrapes on his arms from training. They might pale as he aged, but he'd only get more.

Fighting was more than a way of life here. It was survival. He lit his hand, now as instant as thinking. He'd been able to do a nonverbal wandless Body-Bind Curse, though he'd needed his wand for the counter curse. Flames, though, flames he could do. They were relatively weak, but without someone to tutor him in magic, he could only work on the physical things like marksmanship and one-handed.

He didn't want to learn how to use a mace or shield, nor did he think he'd ever grow to be able to wield a broadsword or a warhammer, not with his seeker's build. Rayya agreed with his assessment.

He'd spent much of his free time reading everything he could get his hands on, from old treatises to history to fiction. That had been another thing he had to get used to. At Hogwarts, there was always quidditch, or Ron and Hermione, or even Seamus, Dean, or Neville to talk to, or class.

Some days, he just felt directionless. He hated waiting.

He'd actually started to get a little worried about Ven. The trip was two weeks on a fast horse, he'd been told, and she'd had plenty of time to come home, even giving her time to explore and locate the elder scroll. But every day he'd climbed up to the tower, and every day, the road stayed empty. He'd have gladly seen Stenvar or Aela too. Both were gone.

After staying that night with them, mainly to make sure the women weren't going to kill the other and to rest and resupply, Stenvar left to go to Dawnstar on the rest of Ven's business.

Aela had received a note from a courier late in the evening about a week ago, paled, and immediately made to leave. Uthgerd was happy, but no one else was. Harry'd convinced her to stay the night, though, and get some rest. He'd been woken up that night by wolves howling, some close to the house. When he awoke that morning, Aela was already gone. Companion business, the note said.

She had been training him on the bow, every day after he rested a little from Rayya's harsh training regimen. So Harry waited for something to happen as he watched the road. Nothing. Nothing except a figure in black who'd been meandering around a stone table close to the house. He heard the trap door open and turned at the sound.

"Uthgerd? What do you want?"

"Hey, Harry." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Just checking up on you. You've been out here longer than you usually are."

"I hadn't noticed." And he hadn't. As he looked up at the sun, it was high in the sky. He'd wasted half a morning here, lost in his thoughts.

"What's on your mind?" Uthgerd asked.

"Thinking about things lost. Things found. I don't know."

Uthgerd hmmed at that. "Losing your family is rough. I say why bother mourning? All of us die. Some do it sooner rather than later, and some get to choose. Sovngarde's waiting. Why worry?"

"Maybe," Harry said in response. Not really. The cover was starting to grate on him. "There are worse things."

"Perhaps."

They sat in silence for a while, but something caught his eye. "D'you see that?" He asked.

Uthgerd cast her eyes about, looking where Harry held his attention rapt. "I do."

People making their way towards the house. "Any of them look Thalmor?" Harry asked.

"It's hard to say. I'm going to get Rayya, and see if she can't sneak around behind them while I confront them, see what they want."

"You sure that's the best idea?"

"You have any better ones?"

"No."

"Then shut up, and let me work." She went down to meet them.

"Who are you?" Uthgerd said, her strident voice ringing through the clearing.

"We are but pilgrims," what seemed to be the leader of the group of people said. A good half-dozen stood in a half circle around Uthgerd. "Humble pilgrims on our way to the statue of Talos that overlooks the lake." Their hoods hid their faces, and cloaks turned their forms amorphous.

"From where do you hail," demanded Uthgerd. "And what is the purpose of your visit here?"

"We seek donations, milady, of food. It's a long way from Solitude, and we are weary."

"I'm not buying it. You look like brigands to me."

"No, not brigands," said the figure, waving his hand in her direction.

She immediately stilled as all tension eased from her body, a pleasant smile on her face. "Please come in and make yourself at home." Her brow furrowed, but with another wave of his hand, her face smoothed out.

"That won't be necessary, my dear. Now tell me, who else is here?"

"Just Rayya and Harry."

"Where are they now?"

"Harry's in the tower and Rayya's sneaking around behind you in case you're a threat." He frowned, so she hastily added, "I know you're not. You would never harm me."

"No, of course not. You two, take care of the extra rubbish." The men he asked strode silently from his side, one sniffing the air carefully before darting behind a copse of trees, invisible. He returned in just a few moments, Rayya thrown over his shoulder.

He only had to wait a few minutes before the second appeared with Harry cradled in his arms. "A child?" He received a deep nod. "Leave the redguard woman here when you're done. We only need one." He smiled at Uthgerd, who smiled back placidly. "This one's will is strong. She'll be a nice challenge."

"And the boy?"

"Harmless. Tie him up, and we'll save him for later." He stroked the cheek of one of the hooded people. "Or perhaps he might make a nice gift?"

"I have always wanted a little boy."

"Very good. Tie him up and make him inconspicuous. No need for the guard to get suspicious."


	17. The Fell Clutch of Circumstance

**Winterhold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Morndas, 28** **th** **of Sun's Dawn, 4E202**

**Tower of Mzark, Dwarven Elevator**

Ven pulled the lever and surfaced into the cold Skyrim sun. In the dim light of the glowing mushrooms, time had lost all its meaning. She turned her hands up, looking at the blackened palms.

Sinderion. Another friend gone. The Altmer alchemist taught her a thing or two, once upon a time, but everyone had an obsession. His happened to be Nirnroots. He'd disappeared from Skingrad when she was young, but not before teaching her a few things. She'd bundled up his bones and his research. He deserved better than to die in that hole all alone, murdered by the foul creatures of Blackreach. She could do honor by his corpse.

Her stomach gurgled. She'd prepared for the worst, but between mad khajiit making her lose half her provisions, and falmer and dwarven contraptions, her food supply had whittled down to almost nothing, forcing her to subsist on whatever she found down there.

She scanned the snow and couldn't find Alfsigr. No matter, the horse probably left to find forage. She'd return. She always did. And she was a far ways from Alftand. Nothing doing but to hoof it.

She picked up pace, running through the icy snow. Ice wraiths dotted the landscape, a bear here, a wolf there. She kept up the punishing pace for hours, forcing her legs to push through the burn. When she slept, she tossed and turned fitfully for a few hours before beginning the long day again. Several days she continued this way, until she finally reached the worn down city of Winterhold.

Ignoring the township entirely, she ran straight to the College. The Elder Scroll gleamed from her back where she looped it over as if it were a baldric. Ignoring the siren call of her bed, she instead strode to the Arcanaeum, collapsing in one of many chairs.

"Urag," she finally had the energy to say. "What day is it?"

"You look like you've been to Oblivion and back," the orc said.

"Something like that."

"It's the 5th of First Seed."

Ven contemplated the situation. She'd been down in Blackreach a long, long time. "You seen a strange dunmer about?"

"I keep watch on the books, not much else. But word is a traveling priest and Ancano had some sort of argument. He's come in here a time or two, didn't speak much, just poked around for some books, reading them. I don't know if he's still here."

"I asked him to meet me here, but it might have taken me a little bit longer than I thought."

"Hmph. Try the Hall of Attainment."

Ven nodded her thanks and made to leave. "The books, Ven?"

"I stopped by Whiterun on the way." She placed a stack of books on his desk. "He was in a little place called Fellglow Keep."

"Good." He gave a few in return, covering all six forms of magicka.

"Urag, parting with books? Now I've seen everything," Ven joked.

"Yeah, yeah. Go on. And Tolfdir wants to speak with you."

Ven tucked them in her bag. She went downstairs, cracking the door a little to make sure Ancano wasn't there. Not seeing the altmer, she walked out, crossing the courtyard and entering the Hall, spotting the priestly robes of Erandur almost instantly.

"Erandur!" Ven said. "It's great to see you!"

"Ven," Erandur inclined his head in greeting, "You look like you've gone twenty rounds with a horker and came out on the losing side."

She laughed. "How are you liking the College so far?"

"It's an amazing sight. Lived in the Pale all my life, never thought I'd set foot on the grounds. I always wanted to."

"Everything you thought it was?" Ven asked, smiling.

"And more," Erandur said.

"You received my missive?"

"Yes. That nord you hired was such a charming fellow."

Ven raised an eyebrow. "Desperate needs require desperate deeds. He didn't insult you, did he?"

"No, but he did look to be suffering an acute case of apoplexy as he handed it over."

She shook her head. "So, did you look into the other part of the letter? Your unique history might give you insight that I don't have. And I don't know who else to talk to that doesn't know already and that I can trust to keep it secret."

"I did. The situation is troubling, very troubling indeed. Did you manage to acquire it?"

Ven pointed to her back. "Short of a Moth Priest, I don't see how it helps."

"Denying a Daedric Prince, and now this. You truly are the make of legends, aren't you, Ven?"

"So the nords say," she answered noncommittally. "Thoughts?"

"These two tomes have information of relevance. A split in time, as it were. It's what you described, yes?"

" _The_ _Warp of the West_ and _Where Were You When the Dragon Broke_? A dragon break, then? The first was in my mother's library, I'm not sure about the second."

"A contact of mine found the second on Solstheim. I remember perusing the work a long time ago. A split when Akatosh himself does not know the way of things. Sounds like it."

" _Tiid-ahraan_ ," Ven murmured, flipping through the books. "By Julianos, you're right!"

"What language was that?"

"Dragon tongue. Harry came from the Time-wound. Appeared there, out of a portal. I need the elder scroll to learn the Shout, the one that makes Alduin mortal, puts him on the same plane as I am."

"Beg pardon?" Erandur said, brows furrowed.

"This is the key." She pointed to the scroll on her back. "This is the key," she repeated. "It always has been," she laughed a little.

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"You will. Follow me, right? I need your knowledge. You're brilliant!"

"Of course, I've offered my services to you for your assistance at the temple, but I'm afraid I don't understand—"

"C'mon, don't you see? He and I are the same: a child of Akatosh, a fragment of Aetherius!"

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Erandur asked.

"The child is dragonborn, yes. A fragment of dragon soul might be enough to cross the liminal barrier. It still begs the question of what an Aethereal soul was doing on Earth, but that has to be it!"

"If you say so, Ven. I trust you know what you're talking about because I certainly don't. What exactly is the time-wound?"

"The ancient nords sent Alduin forward because they couldn't defeat him. It always happens when mortals fool with time. The book mentions the Agent at the heart of the Warp. The breaking of time, the rewriting of it…Alduin is here because they banished him here. The ages and eras he's been gone he was merely shoved forward in time. Another dragon break. I didn't think of it like that, but it makes sense."

"I see."

"Nice of the old nords, wasn't it? Putting off their problems so we're the ones to deal with them later?"

"Did you ever think that Harry may be from the future then, or from the past?"

"No. That wouldn't make any sense. The way he talks, how he describes the world…One moon. Buildings of steel and glass that touch the sky. Carriages running off controlled explosions. Very few people have magicka. No, it's too different. If bridges can be built from here to the Daedric Realms to conjure dremora and such, it stands to reason one could build a bridge to Earth from Nirn. It's just a little further to go, that's all."

"That sounds like it would take an absurd amount of power."

"And some type of sustainable power source from Earth's side. I'm no conjuration expert, but I've read that it takes a transcendent sigil stone transcribed with Daedric runes to even open portals to Oblivion."

"Not a good idea," Erandur said, voice tight.

"No, I'm not the type to summon Princes willy-nilly. I wouldn't do that. But the theory is the same."

"Then one has to wonder how he got here in the first place."

"Indeed." Ven said. "He's been rather tight lipped about it. A mirror, he said, and a wish. There's has to be more to it. More he hasn't said."

"Or that he doesn't know about."

"Something happened that Evening Star, that's for sure." Ven sighed. "My head's too full of things, and it's been a long journey, these past few weeks. Let's get some rest. We will leave in the morning."

"Blessings of Mara upon you, Ven."

"Julianos guide you, Erandur."

—

The new apprentice _was_ keeping secrets, and lots of them by the sound of it. Ancano smirked behind the wall. _Very interesting._


	18. Push Hard As the Push of Death

**Unknown Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Tirdas, 8** **th** **of First Seed, 4E 202**

**Unknown Building**

"You mean to tell me this is true, Ambassador?"

"I heard it from her very lips, Elenwen."

"Then this trip will be worth something after all. If we managed to acquire the boy…"

"That's a fairly large if. Is it worth it?"

"Oh, is it worth it? To declare that blasphemous bosmer a false hero, showing all of Tamriel what she really is? What a stupid question."

"But she has an Elder Scroll."

Elenwen waved her hand. "It is no matter. All the more incentive."

"She's managed to kill every justicar squad, every Dark Brotherhood assassin sent after her. What makes you think it will be different this time?"

"This time we'll have Tullius and Mede backing us, of course. She can hardly deny her precious empire, can she?"

"And if she runs to the Stormcloaks?"

"She won't.

"How do you know?"

Elenwen bared her teeth in a smile. "She won't."

—

Harry awoke to his head knocking against something warm and moving. _Is it a bad thing_ , Harry mused, _that I'm getting used to this?_ He could see dimly; light filtered through the holes in the loose-woven sack. The burlap sack itched, especially against his bare back where his shirt had fallen the way of gravity. The blood rushing to his face gave him something of a fierce headache, but if he wiggled a bit and held his head a certain way, it alleviated it somewhat.

He couldn't quite recall what happened. There had been that skeever infestation in the cellar; he remembered that. He remembered sword training with Rayya that morning. Then nothing but the bounce bounce bounce of someone carrying him in a sack. It was undignified, that's what it was.

They didn't even bother binding him with something stronger than rope. Nothing that prohibited spells, either. Who exactly were these idiots, and how had they managed to get the drop on them?

Uthgerd wouldn't have turned her back on them.

He lit one of his hands. He concentrated on the small, controlled flame, using his fingers to coax it towards his wrist. He concentrated so that the small flame burned on his third finger, bending his fingers as far down as they would go.

It burned through the rope, sizzling. He winced at the sound, pausing in his casting, but it didn't appear they heard, so he continued cutting through, one twist at a time until the rope was easy enough to snap by pulling his wrists apart.

It was easy enough with his hands free to burn a peephole in the bag. He immediately saw the armoured legs of his captor. He searched for a weakness in the greaves, and finding one at the knee joint, let loose with his flames.

The person yelped, dropping him. He hit the ground back first, manoeuvring so he wouldn't hit his head. He still saw stars but fought through the pain and leapt to his feet. He cast his eyes about frantically, looking for any clue as to where he was. He didn't recognize the area, but he'd alerted the cloaked figures, who'd swarmed into action. His eyes widened as Uthgerd stood near the centre of them, advancing towards him. _What's going on?_ He ran towards her, pulling at her arm. "Uthgerd, snap out of it."

She paid him no mind. Her face, impassive as a mountain, stared down at him. She grabbed his arm, the pressure of her grip sure to leave bruises. She jerked him by the arm, leading him to a person standing not too far away. In the dim light of dusk, he looked absolutely bored.

"Well, go on then." He waved his hand. Uthgerd moved to hand him over, but Harry would have none of it. He bit her hard, hard enough to draw blood. It startled her enough that she dropped him. Sparing one last look at Uthgerd, Harry turned and fled, running into the underbrush. He winced every time his feet touched the ground; a herd of elephants would have been quieter.

Gruff barks sounded through the woods, and Harry picked up his pace. He heard a howl, mournful and melancholy, followed by several more. They'd found his scent. He ran even harder, moving helter-skelter through the forest. The feeling of being prey was awakening his blood.

He rebelled against running; every instinct of his told him to turn around and fight. The forest was closing in on him. He had nothing to fight with, nothing by flames and force. Branches tore at his face and clothes, and suddenly he was out of options as a cliff rose up to meet him, a jagged line of fierce stone to the side too steep to climb. He ran to the edge; the ground below a long, long way away. It might kill him. He could jump and maybe he would survive the fall, but he was tired of running.

He turned around, moved forward, and prepared to meet his fate.

Dark shadowy things approached, eyes red in the night. They paced in front of him, back and forth, growing ever closer, closing out any avenue of escape. Harry planted his feet, took a deep breath, and Shouted, "FUS!"

The things staggered, and he ran forward between them. One leapt at him half-heartedly, and forced him to retreat. He didn't have it in him to do it again, not so soon. What was the purpose of all his training with the sword and the bow if he was left without weapons when he truly needed it? That left him flames. They'd gotten him out of one tight spot; another should be easy, right?

Wrong. They shied away from the heat, but it was nothing more than a flimsy deterrent. He'd increased the length of time he was able to use it, but it barely scratched their hides. He tired too quickly; he was running out of options.

His flame flickered, puttered, and went out. One struck, knocking him to the ground, gnashing at him with its teeth. He held up his arm against the assault, kicking at it with his legs. The teeth closed around his arm, tearing the flesh and cracking the bone.

Harry screamed. Another howl, this one on the cliff right above his head. Reinforcements. He was dead. It would chew through his arm and go through his throat next.

Something large and heavy landed in front of him. He was losing blood fast, growing woozy. His glasses had been knocked from his face, so he couldn't see anything but a large mass of darkness against the stars. In one deft movement, it knocked the doglike wraith off him, and _roared_ , driving the others away. Through the pain, he dared to glance down at his arm and blanched, losing what little colour he had left.

The skin on his arm looked like raw hamburger meat. White flecks of what must have been bone showed through. He closed his eyes. He'd vomit if he could. He just wanted to forget about it and sleep for a while.

Sleep. That sounded like a good idea. Something nosed at his head, hot breath blowing against his face. It stank, and the smell jolted him awake. He tried batting it away with his good arm. "S'not gud," he slurred. "'M trying to sleep."

He opened his eyes. Something massive like a bear leaned over him, but he couldn't see clear enough to identify it. At least it wasn't eating him. He heard a growl and a yelp, and something warm splattered on his face. It tasted bitter, like raw meat, and he tried turning his head, but something grabbed him and held his face still.

It dribbled into his mouth until he was forced to swallow, so he wouldn't drown in whatever it was. He did that twice until finally, blissfully, whatever it was left him alone. He closed his eyes.

_Sleep_.


	19. Here Is Flesh With All Its Demons

**The Reach, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Middas, 9** **th** **of First Seed, 4E 202**

_The Wolf sprinted through the forest on four legs. He could feel it inside, the Other, foggy and in pain. He paid it no mind for now. There were too many things to sniff, too many trails to follow. He whined a little. It was so hard to choose!_ No humans, _the Other whispered, so he ignored the smell of metal. He found a good one, a deer. It smelled promising and close, so he followed it._

_He moved swift as the wind, earth churning at his feet. He ate the distance between him and his prey quickly. By the smell, the deer was just up ahead. He kept to the wind, keeping it and the smell to his snout. He moved slowly, stomach to the ground. The deer's ear pricked, and the proud magnificent stag turned his head and looked directly at the Wolf. Spooked, it leapt away._

_The Wolf chased after it, but the stag sprinted faster. He jumped at it, biting at its flank. It bugled low, the distress sounding triumphant in the Wolf's ears. The stag turned, though, and charged, its jagged antlers aiming for his injured side. He staggered a little on his forepaw as he turned sharply, dodging at the last second._

_It was too much to handle, even for a Wolf his size. He decided to search for easier prey. He hungered still._

_He took in a deep breath through his nose, catching a whiff of something tantalizingly familiar. He heard a scritch, and his ears perked up. He followed the sound, prowling around, trying to catch another hint of it on the wind. Oh, it infuriated him, his inability to find the scent, as he ran in great leaps, bounding from side to side. He doubled back, nosing for the smell. He'd catch the interesting sound. His tail wagged._

_There! Up ahead, the scent finally danced in the wind. He chased after it, the warm odour of Home. His paws thundered through the undergrowth, and he yipped excitedly as he grew ever closer to the source. He heard more howls; looking to the left and right he saw his brothers and sisters, slightly smaller than him, running alongside him. He listed to the side, bumping shoulders with them._

_He inhaled again, the scent growing closer. It intermingled with the prey-scent of deer. He howled then, loud and full of courage, and soared through the air, paws scarcely touching the ground with each jump. He felt free, heady with all the new sights and new smells._

_The other Wolf, his blood family, his_ Pack _, stilled, lifting up their head from the kill, their form nearly twice the size of his. He wagged his tail, unafraid. He ran up and nosed their side. The Wolf woofed softly, moved aside, and let him have his share. Something struck him as a little odd; the Alpha was supposed to eat first, but they let him eat until he was sated._

_His belly full, he searched for a place to sleep, stumbling a little on his weak foreleg. The other Wolf guided him with their shoulder to a small den in the hilly terrain, nosing him with concern when he staggered. He made it up the incline slowly, the other Wolf supporting him, before he collapsed on the top of the hill, in sight of anyone for leagues._

_The larger Wolf huffed, nosing him again. He did not move. They whined, but they curled up protectively around the smaller one._

—

Rayya clutched her neck, torn as it was. The flesh knit slowly, and she was out of healing potions, but there had been enough to stem the blood and prevent her from bleeding out, though it had been a close thing. The bandages wrapped around her throat itched. She ached to scratch it, but the pressure made the sensation go away, or at least dulled it to a tickle.

She cast a sombre gaze over the blood trail leading from the edge of the clearing to the front door. She shuddered, casting her eyes down on her ragged nails. Every bit of ground had battled her as she dragged herself inch by unforgiving inch, fighting against time, fighting against bleeding out. They left her for dead, and Ebonarm himself was the only reason she lived. She blocked out the pain, but it was a struggle to remember the teachings of her Master.

Things weren't like they were in the old days, when it was a simple thing to force the pain behind the cage of the mind, and ignore it like the orcs did.

The house was a mess, and something of import was missing, but she couldn't recall just _what,_ and it was driving her mad. No one disturbed the jewels, the armoury, not one of the rare tomes. Something had nearly killed her, nearly brought _her_ down, a proud Warrior, the last of the keeper of secrets of the ancient ways, the last of the emigrants driven from their homeland. In some ways, even she was a shadow of what she once was, no longer the proud Maiden of the Alik'r. A redguard living in a Nord land serving a Cyrodilic wood elf whose race originated in Valenwood.

The feeling poked and prodded at her mind unceasing as she wandered through the house again, stopping by the door to the bedrooms. It drew her in, and she ran her hands down the threshold in contemplation.

She ran over what she knew. Someone took something important. Someone attacked her, leaving her for dead. She was not naïve enough to discount illusion magic. She knew it ensnared the mind like a bear trap; even without Thane Ven's knowledge in such things, her Master had taught her enough to recognize when she'd been tampered with.

She felt the cracks, the holes in her thinking. She hadn't felt this uneasy since she'd begun her walkabout, striding through Nirn, following the example of the strongest spirits through Satakal, the Worldskin, helping those in need.

And through events she'd rather not think about, she'd ended up in service to a nord, a spoilt brat of the Empire, unable to leave at the risk of her honour and her word. Some reward. At least Nenya knew how to run things. Ven had been a nice change, and her emblem's inclusion of the red rose, an augury, though for good or ill Rayya had yet to decide.

But why couldn't she remember anything? She'd been left for dead, the assault on her mind more of a precaution than a necessity. The ones that attacked her vicious, the assault deadly if not for her strength of will.

She walked to the master bed, trailing her hand on the green coverlet. Nothing out of place, but as she walked towards the head of the bed, she tripped on something underneath it, the corner barely sticking out into the walkway. She bent down to retrieve it. Nothing except a little lined lockbox, the perfect size for storing a dagger. She opened it and saw a thin wooden stick, tapered to a point at one end, a handle crafted carefully at the other.

She did not remember this either, and she should, because she had sworn to guard all Ven owned with her life. She knew every crack in the floor, every alchemy ingredient, every cheese wheel in the kitchen, though those tended to disappear with alarming alacrity.

She did not know this twig, but as she focused on the missing block of memory, a pair of haunting green eyes filled her vision before the memory trailed away. She rubbed the bandage on her neck again, her jaw clenched. Her desire to help those in need rose again, but torn between guarding the steading and heading after something that might not even be real, she paced.

Either way, she'd failed. She stalked out to the clearing and looked for a trail, examining every blade of grass, every bent twig on a bush. Nothing. No sign of anything except for her own dried blood.

She growled in frustration and made the decision to stay. She could not leave the steading for the thieves and the wolves. She'd sworn to guard everything her Thane owned with her life, and nearly lost it. That would have to satisfy her pride for now.

But she still felt empty.


	20. Mastered by the Brute Blood of the Air

**The Reach, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Middas, 9th of First Seed, 4E 202**

**Bthardamz**

Harry awoke with a gasp, a sharp pain emanating from his arm. He kicked, but it caught on a stone, and he let out a few invectives, clutching his foot. He grasped for his glasses but couldn't find them. As he looked over the hillock, he found he did not need them. He'd never been able to see this clearly. But he found his eyesight dull, muted; the colours did not shine as brightly.

As he knelt down to examine the cut in his foot more closely, he realized he was naked. He glanced around the top of the hill and couldn't find any clothes anywhere. He breathed in deeply to centre himself, recalling the lessons Rayya taught him, and nearly choked on the air as a myriad of strong smells hit his nose; stone, oil, grass, smoke. Blood. He clutched his bridge, putting pressure on it until the sensation faded.

It hurt to move his fingers. He turned his arm to look at it more closely and blanched, blood draining from his face. A jagged U-shaped scar covered both sides of his wand arm. The angry red-pink of the flesh stared at him. He swallowed at the sight of his deep puncture wounds, but he'd finally become used to the sight of injuries. He managed not to sick up, at least.

He explored the hill, plucking blue berries from the tree near the edge to ease his hunger. They had a bittersweet taste, citrus and pine. He saw the corpse of a deer, bones long since picked clean, free of even marrow. The sight of it picked at his memory, and he stared at it hard. He could taste it on his lips. The blood so much like warm milk with a hint of copper, the meat richer and tenderer than it could ever be cooked, the phantom feel of wind in his hair—

He moved down the dirt path. The ruins he left behind him. Looking at them made him uneasy. He stayed off the road. Nakedness had ceased to bother him; communal baths and open bathing rooms made it seem silly to worry about such things. Even so, he kept an eye out. Bandits would kill for lack of items to steal. The rocky ground didn't hurt. The calluses on his feet were almost as tough as the soles of boots, now.

He spotted a small camp in the distance towards a path leading around a great stone cliff; it seemed empty, but as he moved closer, he heard the low sounds of talking. He picked up his pace and investigated one of the tents. He skulked around the edges, footsteps quiet as a whisper. He found an apple, a sealed bottle of ale, and a bit of hardened bread with a spot of mould growing on the end. He cast his eyes about, eyed a dagger, and wiping it on the bedroll, proceeded to slice through the bread. He rifled through the pack next to it for something to wear. He found a shirt—rough spun and several times larger than he needed—and slipped it on. It fell to his knees. He moved on from the camp, avoiding the men in Roman armour. The dagger he kept, using it to make a rough pack with the leg of a set of trousers and a stick.

He took a swig of ale now and then as he edged through the dirt path, taking the circuitous trail through the jagged mountains. He didn't particularly care for the taste, but the water here wasn't the cleanest, and it made one ill more often than not unless it was boiled and sifted. One of his first lessons after he spent a week vomiting from drinking at the pond behind the house.

Harry stopped in the shade of a sheer cliff around midday to rest. He yawned and gave a great bone-cracking stretch, loosening out the stiffness in his spine. He took out the rest of the bread, but then he smelled something. An acrid scent he'd grown familiar with. As he walked closer towards the tower in the distance, he saw several dead bodies—some bloodied, some charred. Smoke still drifted from several spots on the ground.

It was a wonder that the tower still stood. The masonry had impressive cracks. Missing bricks dotted the side. He walked in and came upon a relatively preserved dead bandit. A dagger lay to her side. He added it to his small pile of loot. Sadly, none of the armour she wore would fit him. The blood-soaked fur sagged, and the way it shifted would leave him more vulnerable in a fight than if he were wearing nothing. Even worse, the ill stitching led him to believe she'd made it herself.

The bow she had was ill made as well. Serviceable, but the draw and the length were too much. He stripped the string and tied it around his waist, looping the steel and iron daggers around his sides. Her quiver with some ten or so steel arrows he looped around him.

The rickety stairs threatened to give way underneath him. The planks on the second floor creaked as he walked across. There was a chest; it wouldn't open. He climbed to the top. He could see a fair bit away, but he was no closer to figuring out where he was. Sharp peaks surrounded him on every side. He picked up a potion, placing it in his makeshift pouch. He looked behind him.

A great stone monument loomed over the valley where the path ended at the side of the mountain. Old and impressive, the stone had weathered the ages. Moss and strange swirls marked its surface. It called to him, stirring his blood.

More corpses littered the path to the monument. The closer he came, the stronger anticipation came over him. Each beat of his heart was a chorus of drums. He walked closer and ran his hands over the familiar script. A line near the top caught his attention, and as he touched it, his vision blurred and he felt something pull at him. A roar filled his ears, and he turned, staggering against the wall. _Su_ , it whispered at him. Air.

As his vision cleared, he heard another roar, and the sound of a great displacement of air. His back to the wall, he looked up. A great gaping maw showed sharp gleaming teeth as long as his forearm. "DOVAHKIIN!" It bellowed. "KRIF!" Each flap of its wings ruffled his hair.

Harry swore. He took a deep breath. " _FUS_!" The weak Shout didn't even make it blink.

The green dragon tilted its head down, its head ridge making it look even more intimidating. Poisonous yellow eyes glared at him. "Julkiir?" it said, tilting its head, before making a weird hoarse growling sound oddly reminiscent of laughter. "Sahlo joor. Ru uv dir."

Harry had no idea what it was saying. "Niid?" The voice rose at the end. "RUZ DIR!" Then it spat fire at him. Of course it did.

He dodged as the dragon landed on the ground, nearly crushing him. He ran around behind it, slashing at his hind legs with his dagger. Its great wide flat tail whipped at him, catching him in the stomach and knocking him away. Harry spat blood on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He jumped as the tail came towards him again and grabbed a hold of it, landing on the top and barely managing to hang on as the dragon swung its tail wildly. It arched its tail over its back, turning him upside own, and Harry fell off. He stabbed his dagger down, managing to work his way in the space where two scales met, and that kept him from falling any further. He used the iron dagger to puncture the thin membrane of the fin on its back.

The dragon immediately took to flight, flying upside down in a corkscrew to try to fling him off its back, but Harry held on, if only barely. He climbed slowly towards the head, using the two daggers as moving handholds. It turned to snap at him, and he let go, dangling hundreds of feet above Skyrim with one hand upside down. The dagger was working its way out of its back.

Harry closed his eyes. He was flying, and it was just a particularly unruly broom. _Just like quidditch_ , Harry thought. _Honestly, the cursed broom was worse,_ he told himself. He took a deep breath, and as the dragon turned upright again, he jumped. He made it to the sinuous neck and held on as tight as he could, arms and legs wrapped around. The long spines hurt as it moved, but he wrenched its head around, and as he did, it forced the dragon to follow.

Idea springing in his head, he let go, holding on with just his legs, and stabbed as hard as he could behind the dragon's head ridge. It let out a roar of pain as the dagger penetrated the vulnerable spot. He forced its head down, and the dragon followed, crash landing and throwing up a huge cloud of dirt. Harry wasted no time; he yanked the dagger out and stabbed the right yellow eye, turning and running as the dragon Shouted, "YUL TOOR SHUL!"

It completely missed him, but the dragon turned and looked for him with its good eye. It silenced its thrashing, listening for him.

"Hircine's blood, whelp!"

His ear twitched as he heard someone running towards him. He turned his head, keeping an eye on the dragon out of the corner of his eyes, and his entire face lit up as he saw whom. "Aela!"

She smiled at him, but it took effort. Her pinched, drawn face didn't lend itself easily to a happy expression. "Harry, I can't leave you anywhere, can I?" She let off arrow after arrow.

"No," Harry smirked, showing bloody teeth. "Let's do this. I've a plan."


	21. Trust Your Heart if the Seas Catch Fire

"A plan," Aela stated.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "The dragon's dangerous, but he doesn't appear all that bright." He glanced a few dozen metres away where the dragon was now sniffing the ground. He didn't know how powerful a dragon's sense of smell was, but now that he noticed, he could smell his own blood, cloying and metal thick, mixed with something that smelled like leather and liquid fire. He bet the dragon could smell it too, since it was now facing his direction. Or maybe it was the talking. They weren't being particularly quiet.

"By your lead then."

"Circle around and kill him while I manoeuvre him to the tower," Harry gestured behind him. "Can you get him through this dust?"

Aela shot him a pointed glance. "He won't fall for that," she said, what Harry wanted dawning on her.

"And why not?" Harry raised his eyebrows at her.

She sighed. "You'd better not get hurt." She grabbed the sword at her side and held it out to him. "Here, take this in case, whelp. It's Skyforge steel."

He picked up the blade, giving it a few experimental swings, testing the weight. Harry nodded his thanks. "Hey!" he yelled at the dragon. "Come and get me, you poor excuse for an overgrown skeever!" He picked up a stone and threw it, hitting it squarely on the snout. It roared, scrabbling along the ground towards him.

Aela crept around, slipping quietly behind it, footsteps silent and bow drawn.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you, you great bandy-legged brute!" Harry yelled, making a point to make his footsteps as loud as possible as he charged towards the tower.

"DIR!"

"You've said that before!" He called behind him. "I thought dragons could speak, but it appears you only know the one word. You want to have a bit of a chat?" He took a deep breath. "FUS!" It barely shook it. The dragon tore along the ground in earnest after him. "That ought to settle your need for conversation."

The dragon snapped at him. Harry barely missed the teeth tearing him in half. It managed to rip a hole in his tunic. The temporary distraction allowed him to dive into the tower, the dragon hot on his heels.

It snapped at him, its long neck able to reach nearly to the back of the tower. He stumbled over some rubble. Harry pressed his back to the wall as the teeth of the dragon snapped at him again, catching the front of his tunic again and ripping it near off. It tilted its head down and tried to pull itself out of the tower door, but the large ridge on its head made that nearly impossible. He couldn't tell what Aela was doing. A long thin tongue snaked out towards him, licking him on the face. Harry wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotten meat and the texture. "Anytime now would be brilliant, Aela, thanks!" he yelled.

He lit his hands and pushed fire at the dragon. It barely singed its nose. Out of options, he brandished the sword and fought through the singing of his blood and the sweat in his eyes to remember Rayya's training.

It was too late; he could see the light of inspiration in the dragon's good eye. It took a deep breath.

"Oh, f—"

A moment's pause as the dragon jerked upwards, but it was enough. " _YOL TOOR SHU_ —" Harry stepped forward almost as soon as the first word was out, right into the maw of the dragon. He drove the sword upwards before it could finish, slipping on its tongue, twisting it with all his might as hot blood poured from the wound. It tried to close its mouth, but that just drove the sword farther into its skull. With a great shudder, the mouth closed around him and the dragon disintegrated around him.

He slumped down against the jawbone, not caring to move. "Great, Harry, mental, have a go at a dragon, that'll work well," he muttered to himself. "It's not enough it wants to eat you; no, you've got to go and give it _ideas_!"

"I'd dearly love to ask you what made you think you could take on a dragon, but I think it was more the dragon taking on you," Aela said. She moved around the corpse, retrieving her arrows. One had gone straight through the neck, giving Harry the chance to avoid being burned.

"No, really?" Harry fired off as the familiar aethereal lights swirled around him. _Su._ Air, the voice of the dragon whispered to him. He closed his eyes. Blood drums beat in his head to the rhythm of his pulse.

"Someone grew a bit of bite while I was away," Aela raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips.

Opening one eye, Harry just waved her off. "Give me a moment, would you? You can lecture later. I promise to even listen."

"How good of you!" Aela said, but she didn't add anything else, much to Harry's relief.

_Su._ Air. He didn't even have to think about this one. Air was his life and his being. The wind whipping through his hair as he dove for Neville's remembrall. Air was peace and freedom, weightless limbs outstretched and a broom between his legs. Clouds building and moving and storming and dying. Air _moved_ , flitting from side to side like the snitch. It was always in motion; it never stayed still. And then he knew _. He was Air and Air was he._ He stood, exhaustion forgotten, leaping out of the mouth of the dragon. "SU!" And he moved through Rayya's forms like lighting, faster than ever before. To his own eyes, he was a blur of motion, faster than perception, but the world slowed around him. Then it sped back up, and Harry shoved the blood-soaked sword at Aela.

He collapsed and. took a deep breath, hands on his face. "I'm bleeding eleven."

"I noticed," Aela said, putting her hand on his shoulder and sitting beside him.

"I'm bleeding eleven, and I was kidnapped and I woke up naked and I just killed a dragon. I'm not even past my first term and I killed a _dragon_ ," he repeated.

"I helped?" Aela offered. Harry just looked at her. The tone was light, but tension had carved deep lines into her face.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"You nearly died. Twice." She laughed, but it was a dark thing. "I may have been a little too hard on Stenvar. The gods have it out for you, whelp."

"I didn't, though."

"But it was a close thing."

"You said twice. Clearly the dragon, but…" Harry tilted his head to the side. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

He frowned. "People came, in hoods. I was in the tower when I saw a burly man come through it."

Aela nodded. "Go on."

"I woke up in a bag, burned my way out and ran. And then—Uthgerd!" Harry straightened up, eyes wide. "They have Uthgerd!" He sagged a little. "But she just let them take me," he said in a small voice. "I tried to free her, but she wouldn't come with me. I don't remember much after that but pain."

"I feared as such. First the Silver Hand start moving against us, and now this." Aela knelt down to his level. She put her hands on his shoulders and met his eyes. "They were vampires, Harry."

"Vampires?" he repeated dumbly. "But—"

"There was an attack on Whiterun about two weeks ago. I don't know what or who they were after, but they nearly killed the Avenicci woman before the guard drove them off. Dragons, Vampires, Skyrim tearing itself apart…It truly is the end of days."

"But the dragonborn wins, right?" Harry asked so earnestly that Aela searched to come up with an answer.

"So the legends say. I've routed small enclaves of vampires on assignment from the Companions, but I've never seen them this organized."

"Will we be able to save her?"

"They've enthralled her. Sometimes killing the vampire helps, but not always." She stood, rifling through her rucksack and tossed Harry a bundle that hit him in the chest. "Get dressed. We've got a long way to go, and what you're wearing looks like it lets in the cold."

Harry looked down and flushed scarlet from his neck to the tips of his ears as the shirt had torn from mid-chest to the hem. It was one thing to bathe but another thing to display without meaning to. He struggled to clothe himself as fast as possible.

Aela laughed. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, whelp. Now come on. We can talk as we go." Harry followed her strident steps. "So you don't remember anything else?"

"I already said I didn't."

"You've still got a lot to learn then. I don't know what's taking Ven so long, but like it or not, you're a member of the Companions now, and you need to be aware of a few things."

"What? I don't have a choice in this?"

"You've got the beast blood now, whelp."

"What does that mean?"

"You truly don't recall nearly dying? You're a werewolf, Harry."

_Yer a wizard, Harry._ "I heard a howl, louder than those things after me. And a huge wolf. I thought that was a dream," Harry said, stopping in the middle of the path. "My eyesight. My sense of smell." _No! Why do these things keep happening to me?_ He shook it off. He would not whine.

"Now you get it. You're already changing, adapting to the beast blood. It was no dream. I did it to save your life, and I have no regrets, though the Harbinger will not be happy with me. But my mother was a Companion, and her mother before her, and even if it's not what you wanted, it is not such a bad thing, Shield-brother."

"What'll happen to me?"

"I am your forebear. I will take responsibility for you. Farkas and Vilkas were both younger than you were, and it will work out. I have a good reason to believe you'll adapt to the change well. I wish it hadn't been necessary, that I had been able to give you a choice. But there are worse things than death, and even if you had survived the way the deathhound ravaged you without losing your arm, you might turned into a vampire yourself. I am no healer. I have no regrets," Aela repeated.

Harry had his doubts about her regrets. The familiar numbness crept over him. He took a steadying breath. _It helped me survive._ "Anything else I should know about?"

"Nightmares. Insomnia is common. Restlessness. The need to kill, to hunt. Things I'm told a dragonborn already suffers in some fashion. But sickness will not touch you."

Harry smiled crookedly. "Well. There is that."

"And you do not have to change into one of the moonborn if you do not wish to, Harry."

"I think I need some time to process this," Harry said.

"Fair enough," said Aela. "But we cannot linger here. And if we are to find Uthgerd, we must go before the trail runs cold to even our senses. I will tell you more as we go, Harry."

"No rest for the weary," Harry said. "Let's go."


	22. Black-flaming as the Rising Sun

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Loredas, 12** **th** **of First Seed, 4E 202**

**Throat of the World**

"'Sright! Run away coward!" Ven screamed at the retreating shadow. She fired arrow after arrow after Alduin. Her quiver was half-empty by the time Erandur placed a hand on her arm, causing her to stay her draw. She sagged against Paarthurnax's perch, utterly exhausted.

"Here, Ven." Erandur held out a steaming cup. She took it from him with shaking hands. As she took it, some splashed out and scalded her. She swore vehemently. The thick fur did little to protect her bare skin from the hot liquid. "Easy now. It's just a bit of spill," he said, offering her a cloth.

She knocked it away. "It's not about the spill! Dragonrend wasn't enough!" Ven shouted. "I had him, and I let him get away!"

"He fled, Ven," the dark elf said, red eyes softened. "You were not without victory. I scarce believe we faced the World-Eater himself, and came out alive."

A shadow descended upon them. "The elf is right. This _krongrah_ —your victory—will have already placed doubt in the minds of Alduin's allies."

"But he escaped!" Ven fumed.

"Your victory will have given him pause. His _pahlok_ will be his undoing. His arrogance leads him to believe nothing can challenge his power."

"I need to find out where he went," she said. "From there, I can finally end this."

"It is in our nature _wah_ _rel_ —to dominate. Prove to one of the _dov_ that follow him that you are, hmm, superior, and they might betray him. It will not be easy. But your _su'um_ is strong."

"And how can I do that?"

"The _hofkahsejun_. They still have legends about it, yes? The _dov_ trapped by the _bronjun._ "

Ven lifted her head up in a quick, sharp, motion. "You're talking about Dragonsreach, aren't you?"

"Whiterun, yes."

Balgruuf and I aren't particularly close. But I guess it's as good a lead as any."

"And the _tiid-ahraan_? I find myself curious."

She clenched her jaw. "I saw no hint of Harry's world. I was here, but in the past, when they sent Alduin forward with the elder scroll."

"Yet it is from here he did appear. We _dov_ are attuned to time, and here it still bleeds."

"Do you have anything of his from his realm?" Erandur spoke up from where he had been standing deeply in thought.

"I have this." Ven reached behind her and pulled out a roughly whittled instrument of some kind. "He left it behind, and I had already sent him on his way by the time I realized it had made it from his satchel to mine. You have an idea?"

Erandur didn't answer. He took it and carved a bit from the end before handing it back to her. He took out a mortar and pestle and an alembic and set to work. Much like in the old temple of Vaermina's, Ven could identify a vast majority of the ingredients, but a few slipped her knowledge. "The Staff of Corruption collected the prime ingredient for the torpor," Erandur said, surprising Ven. "I do not know if the ingredients will work without it, but I am hoping the power of the elder scroll will be enough. It has already allowed you to pass through time and space."

"You mean for me to dreamstride? Would that even work?" Ven asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"With the piece from his world, the elder scroll, and—if you will indulge me, a bit of your blood as the catalyst—it might," Erandur said. "I have no true knowledge if it will. I do not know any of Harry's gods to invoke."

"Perhaps Julianos and Akatosh will be enough. Paarthurnax?"

"It seems there is a risk of losing yourself to the _vennesetiid_."

"There is that," Ven murmured. She sliced her hand, dripping the blood in the alembic before healing the cut. She tapped her fingers against her arms and paced back and forth as Erandur worked. "Erandur, have you worked out the distance problem? I don't want to end in Harry's world and have no way back."

"The scroll should take care of that. It pulled you back after you learned what you needed to learn. We will have to trust in its power." She paced for a few more minutes, leaving a deep furrow in the snow. "And almost done." He handed Ven a vial bubbling with silver liquid, placing the tiniest scrap of paper inside it, turning it the deepest shade of black.

"This looks delicious," she commented, grimace on her face. "Well, nothing but to do it. Who knows? It might be mad enough to work." And she knocked it back in a single drink as the elder scroll flashed.

She fell into darkness. Thick blackness surrounded her as she struggled to find a place to put her feet. She saw little dots of light she thought might be stars. Her feet landed on what she tentatively labelled moonbeam tears. She heard a voice and it made her dive off the path, into what she didn't know. _Like Blackreach._

It was a place of impressions. She couldn't see it physically; everything was made of split-moment thoughts and feelings.

"They never had such a supper in their life,

And the little ones gnawed on her bones-o, bones-o,

And the little ones gnawed on her bones-o," the voice sang. It echoed everywhere and nowhere at once, in her head and yet not.

"What, ho? Who's there?" Ven said nothing. "It's a quiet little wind, blowing between the cracks in the realms." It laughed. "Hello, sun." She couldn't see, but she felt its gaze on her.

"What are you?" She dared to ask.

"That's neither here nor there," the voice said. "But mostly there. You're where you shouldn't be, lass. You're lucky you're one of mine. Now off you go!'' Ven felt a great push. "Oh, and follow the spiders."

Ven barely had time to catch the words before she was falling again, this time into what felt like webbing. Her hand caught on something warm, glowing and sharp. It stuck to her. She pulled as hard as she could, and it came free with a hiss and a pop and a bit of a dull roar.

She rolled again, and this time, she fell into someone. It was the weirdest sensation, like walking under a waterfall.

_Behind prison bars?_ She looked down at her tiny chubby hands. Not prison, then. Something worse.


	23. If I Could Pray to Move, Prayers Would Move Me

The pain hit. With one blurry hand, she reached up and touched the dull edge of a rounded ear, just to make sure. Her head throbbed. Ven closed her eyes, but she couldn't stop the tears from leaking out of them. She felt too big for her skin, as if her whole body was going to split apart at any second. Like an overfilled vessel, the pressure built.

Her whole body ached. She rubbed at her eyes but they remained blurry—even more so with tears. The ache in her head intensified, and without realizing it, she cried out. Her soft whimpers soon became hiccoughing sobs, and she wailed. The lights above shined overbright, harsher than a candle.

Warm arms engulfed her and held her close. The movement increased her pain. Her head was going to split in two.

"Shh, baby, it's all right, mum's here." Ven cried louder. "Shh, it's all right, dear," she heard a voice say. The noise cut through her mind. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

She was herself again. She held up her hand. The thing she had pulled from the web as she fell pulsed on her wrist. She heard the soft noise of a baby; he sat there observing her and the other thing in the darkness with them. Both glowed faintly. The other thing moved, detaching from her, coalescing into a myriad of different shapes. It bubbled and shrunk, sprouted wings and a tail, grew larger than the room and engulfed them both, before shrinking down again. It sniffed at her with its draconic head, before turning predatory eyes on the baby and smirking.

"No, you don't," Ven said, urging her strangely adult body between them. No use; the dragon leapt through her and devoured the baby whole as she turned and watched in horror. Instead of disappearing, the form began to morph. The wings shrunk and the tail receded as the horns sank into the head that rounded and sprouted hair. Within moments, the baby sat as he had before. He turned and giggled at her.

Her eyes flew open. Though it had taken mere moments in her mind, when she awoke, it was dark. Her pain had surprisingly lessened, though it was still present. She shifted and opened her eyes, finding herself back in the crib to the sound of a woman screaming and pleading, a harsh voice, high cruel laughter and a dull thud. A sound familiar to her after years of fighting.

She licked her lips. There was a sweet taste. As she grasped hold of the side of the cot, she pulled herself up to try to see over the edge. She glanced up to a figure looming over her, spouting unfamiliar words and a green light. She had just enough time to see the ghostly baby start crying as an unnatural twisted faceless thing appeared, for the pain to begin again and warmth to trickle down her forehead before the world moved, and she fell again—

A behemoth, using a giant club to pulverise a strange looking room, water spouting everywhere—

A giant dog with far too many heads, each one about to snap her in its jaws—

Hands on her head blistering and burning her face, crumbling to dust as her head split open; she was dying, dying, dying, in a wave of fire, burning to death at any moment—

A long fall, the bones in her arm gone—

Following spiders as one the size of a house tried to kill her—

Yellow eyes and the sharp cry of a bird, fangs in her arm and the incessant cry of _kill murder rip_

_death tear,_ her very soul pulled from her breast—

A large dog bounding for her in an alley with strange looking houses and lights that glowed without magic—

Black hungry things feeding on her very life—

A man growing and rippling and howling with her scent—

A dragon chasing her through the air—

A graveyard, a slice down her arms—

A black curtain reeking of death—

A spell and an old man falling—

A wave of fire and flame burning everything in the world to bitter, bitter ash and beyond—

A whisper

_I open at the close_

And then nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…

Darkness. Blissful, quiet, comforting darkness. Ven felt nothing, though a cold trickle wormed its way down her spine. She started walking for lack of anything better to do. As she walked, she began to see little things like stars. She could see stars all around here, each one a gateway to Aetherius.

Constellations she'd known since her childhood moved and stretched. She saw the Serpent winding by, made of unstars, chase after the Apprentice and the Thief, and it was Evening Star and Sun's Height all at once, each in their season.

She was nearly lost, once, but she reached out her hand and felt the tiniest thread. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the nothing, and she began to see it everywhere she looked.

She looked down once and almost fell into cold fire as the world around her bled red and the sky turned to ash. A wrong turn led to her feet touching a black pit of thick liquid that oozed death as something long and thin nearly pulled her in. Still more purple bones rattled at her touch as she felt her way through the stars.

She tripped and fell and sank into a marsh, fell through into a desert full of diamonds and sharp edges before being carried away by a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Then she could feel _heat_ , a terrible fire as a great groan sounded to her missing ears. It shook her and the butterflies around her, and she could feel them burning even as they rose to cover every exposed inch of her body. She felt the ash, and the plume of fire that burned through her bone. She felt her soul burn, churning inside out—

Very slowly, she felt herself come to. Everything was cold and numb. Her stomach growled. Her throat was painfully dry. She tried to swallow; it was sandpaper.

She felt tingling in her feet first. Her boot twitched.

"—en, Ven, can you hear me?"

She palmed her face. She lay on a hard stone bed. She opened her eyes; blinked once or twice. "Erandur?" She blinked again slowly. _I'm so cold._ She shuddered involuntarily, swinging her legs to the edge of the bed and forcing herself up. She took a deep breath to calm and steady herself, the things she saw swirling about her eyes.

"What happened?"

"It didn't work. I…I don't know." Something had changed in her. She could feel it. In the way sensation felt strange, in the way her body shook, in the way her legs threatened to give out from underneath her. "How long was I out?"

The lines deepened on Erandur's face. "Three days. You were gone for five more before. Ven, what happened?" He asked again.

"I don't know." _Lie_. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's go. The Jarl and Alduin are waiting." She turned and limped off, nearly falling, failing to see Erandur reach out his hand after her before dropping it slowly to his side.

She thought: _I was made and unmade._


	24. Remember Me When I Am Gone Away

**Haafingar Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Tirdas, 15th of First Seed, 4E 202**

**Cliff overlooking the Karth River, near the borders of Hjaalmarch and The Reach**

"Why would the vampires taking Uthgerd go this way? You said the path led towards High Rock," Harry asked. It just didn't make any sense.

"I did. The pass through the Druadach Mountains is difficult this time of year. I thought they might be headed to Jehenna. Perhaps they mean to go by sea. If that's so, Solitude is their best bet."

"What do we do now then?"

"Make camp. We'll reach them tomorrow, before they reach the city, if that is indeed their aim. I know the vampires have a camp near here, but the trail leads towards the other side of Dragon Bridge instead of back down south."

"You know, you never said how you found me."

"We'd been searching for Silver Hand camps."

"Who are they?"

"A group of werewolf hunters. For right now, it's just me and Skjor searching. He's got the Pale, Winterhold, Eastmarch, and the Rift, while I'm supposed to be searching Falkreath, Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, and the Reach. We know they have no camps in Whiterun."

"Was that the letter?"

Aela nodded. "Yes. Apparently they've been attacking people that have hired us and other innocents. It's bad business."

"But how do they know?"

"I have no idea. I doubt it's someone in Companions. It's only the Circle that carries the beast blood—the upper members of the guild. Rumor has it they're also searching for Wuuthraad, fragments of the legendary weapon of Ysgramor."

"Oh." _It'd help if I knew who that was,_ Harry thought. He recalled reading about it. Very vaguely.

"But you asked why I was there. I'd heard rumors of a werewolf attack. One allegedly devoured a little girl, and where there's rumors of a werewolf, there's usually the Silver Hand."

"Did you find them?

Aela shook her head. "I was going to stop by on the way back, see how things were. Instead, I smelled blood and the undead. I saw no sign of you, the steward, or Rayya."

Harry bolted upright. "Rayya! I completely forgot. Do you know if she's all right?" He clutched at Aela's arm.

She shook her head again. "I smelled only the blood and you and the steward's trail. I didn't stay; the instincts can be overpowering sometimes. I couldn't stay, not if there was a chance you were still alive. I said I'd look after you, whelp." She reached out and ruffled his hair by the light of the fire. "I mean it."

"And you followed it just in time to save me."

"You did pretty well with what you had, but it's no excuse for letting yourself get backed into a corner."

"Right," Harry muttered, head down.

"Oh don't look at me like that. You've grown so much since I first saw you. Less milk-teeth and more proper fangs now." She reached into her pack. "Normally, you'd get this from Eorlund, but you're a Companion now, and this is better quality steel. You should take it." She held out a gleaming dagger.

"Thank you." Harry said quietly. He attached it to his belt along with steel dagger. The iron dagger he placed underneath the pillow of his bedroll. He'd learned to keep one with him at all times. He would never be so helpless again. Never. He'd had enough of almost dying.

"Now get some rest. We leave bright and early."

Harry settled in his bedroll, but he couldn't sleep. Worry for Rayya and Uthgerd and Ven swirled around him, making it hard to breathe. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about her. He closed his eyes and all he saw were the gleaming red eyes of the death dogs. He jumped at the sound of stone skittering down the side of the cliff, thinking it was another dragon. _If you see a dragon, run and hide._

He rolled over and glared at the coals. So much for it being safer. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Sure, there were the Thalmor assassins, but then there was the bandit camp, the dragon, the argument between Uthgerd and Aela, the vampires, Aela again, _another_ dragon…He ticked each one off his fingers as he thought. Like water through open fingers, it didn't hold. Did Ven leave him behind because she wanted to get rid of him?

It was just an idle thought, but suddenly he felt very uneasy. His parents had died; the Dursleys didn't want him for sure. Had gone out of their way to make sure he was unwanted. Dudley had made sure he had no one at school.

Why would that change in Skyrim? _But Aela had come back,_ a voice whispered, _maybe Ven would, too._

His bones ached. The scars on his arms faded every day, but the ache only grew. Aela had been right about the nightmares. Whenever he slept, he hunted or something hunted him. He was always running. And then there was the silver. He'd reached in his rucksack absentmindedly only to touch something smooth and cry out. He'd gingerly picked it up. It turned out to be a ring. It left large welts on his skin that hadn't faded even now. Aela had explained that silver would hurt him now, but it was something different, seeing it in person.

To pass the time until he fell asleep, he wondered what Ven was doing now. Surely she was fine wherever she was. It wasn't her fault she had important business. Maybe she'd have a way home for him. But home didn't seem like something he wanted anymore. Almost three months. A fourth of a year. Hogwarts seemed so long ago, though he knew it wasn't. Things just kept happening to him. So much in just the last week.

Next time something happened, he'd be strong enough to face it. Next time, he wouldn't need help. Next time, he would survive by something more than luck. Next time…and he slept.

They woke early the next morning. They reached the town by midmorning, crossing a massive bridge with the enormous head of a stone dragon glowering down at them ominously. He shuddered as they passed under it. As they walked down the main road, a guard greeted him with the typical accent Harry had come to know as Nordic.

The Four Shields tavern dominated the whole town. It was perhaps the smallest village Harry had been to so far. Aela stepped in to trade with Faida, the innkeeper. On a whim, Harry asked her about magic. She seemed surprised and not at all enthusiastic, but she directed him to speak with Solitude's court wizard.

"Can we go there, Aela?"

She glanced down at him, nonplussed. "If the trail is close enough, yes."

"So nords really don't like magic?"

"With a bow and fine steel, why would you need it, save for healing?" she said. "And even that's for priests."

That was that, but Aela did haggle down a spell tome and gave it to Harry. The book looked as if it had been through the wars. The leather cover had cracks running down it where the leather had begun to peel. The cover was black with a stylised hand, palm facing out, on it. He opened it up, flipping through the pages, and he was pleased to see it was a novice primer for elemental spells. Flames he already knew—it was just like _incendio_ , but he imagined how helpful frostbite would be, particularly in slowing down pursuers. Sparks drained magicka. Dead useful, that.

He read on. There was very little variation in the hand movement. Mostly it was just the way it felt, how he willed it to be. It was intuitive more than anything. He wondered if the same applied for _lumos_. He practiced the spells as they were walking, trying to see if he could generate lightning or cold. And if they could do that, then surely the only thing left to spell creation was the power of imagination.

They ate the hot meal Faida provided to them in silence. Afterwards, Harry walked out into the cool air. It did little to effect his mood, and he let out a great sigh as he leaned over the railing. He stared at the building across the way. The black and silver dragon banners fluttered in the wind. Two men sitting at the table outside caught his eye. They appeared to be in a deep, heated discussion. Straining his ears, he could hear the rustle of metal clinking together as the one with the familiar angled countenance of a high elf gave a large sack to the man dressed in Roman-like armour. Then with a slight popping sound, he disappeared. Harry rubbed his eyes and looked again. The elf was still gone, but the sack of what Harry thought was gold remained.

The man caught his eye and held up a tankard of mead, toasting him. Harry moved back inside as casually as possible. _What had that been about?_

"Harry? You look troubled."

Aela had to repeat it two or three more times before Harry looked up from his cup of milk. "What? Yeah, I'm fine." The man had eyed him like Marge right before she set the dogs on him. "I think someone's after us."

Aela glanced around. "You sure?" Harry nodded. "We have to go, and quickly." She went up to the innkeeper. "Do you have a back door?" The woman shook her head. "Through the front then," Aela whispered.

They moved out of town. He focused more on his surroundings; the result of his lessons from Ven and Aela. The wind changed and he smelled the sharp tang of magicka. He tugged on Aela's quiver. He didn't even have to point out the shadow lingering in the corner of his eyes. Hers frantically darted back and forth, looking for escape routes.

She must have found none, for in front of them stood three Thalmor agents, surrounded by the solitary man in red-black armour and and several guardsmen in red. "Trouble?" One said, but the voice was strange. It lacked the timbre he had greeted him with before. The accent sounded almost _elven_.

"We are looking for one Harry Potter. Our informants say he is traveling with you." She backed up, shielding Harry from the men.

Harry murmured, too low for any but her wolfish ears to pick up,"Aela, there's too many for us to fight, even for you."

"I know, whelp." She whispered back. "Stay quiet. I've heard how they collared Ulfric. Perhaps we can play you off as mute."

Harry nodded, his eyes cold set. He remembered this armour. Thalmor assassins. Oh, the irony.

"I don't know who that is," Aela said. "This is my boy, Brond."

"Don't lie to me. We know who he is and what he looks like. We have your Nord friend. He's a chatty drunk. Was a chatty drunk. Stendarr, was it? After the Divine, I presume."

Aela clenched her fist around her bow's grip, but she said nothing. "Brond, stay with me," she said as Harry tried to surge forwards.

"For the Aldmeri Dominion, by the Authority of the Empire under accordance with the White-Gold Concordat, you, whether Harry or Brond, are under arrest and hereby charged with blasphemy and Talos worship. In addition, you are hereby charged with sedition, conspiracy to murder, piracy, and treason."

"On whose authority?" Aela barked. "On what grounds? Those are baseless! Brond worships Julianos, and I, Akatosh."

"On the Empire's and the Jarl's, of course," the elf said, voice dripping with condescension and disdain. He spoke to her as if she were a yearling. "The penalty to be decided once we've judged the severity of the crime."

"He's a child! You can't just—"

"He's old enough to make his own decisions."

"Your charges are weightless."

"Weighted enough have the backing of the Empire." _Lie_ , Harry thought, but he was still getting used to the smell of emotions. But if he could pick it up, so could Aela.

"And if we resist?" Aela said, drawing her bow tight.

The high elf flashed his teeth. "We are not here for you. But by all means," he swept his hands palm up. "Please do. You are near the Thalmor Embassy and a short shout away from a company of Justicars. I would be _delighted_!"

"Good." She fired her bow, barely missing the heart as the thalmor dodged to the right. The clearing immediately erupted into a clamor as six of them leapt for Aela. She held and drew her sword, slashing in fury. Harry likewise drew his dagger, slashing low as a false guard dove for him. He scored a hit.

Two more forced their way into the melee. Their aim was clear, even to Harry; they wanted to separate them. He didn't even have to think about it. He lit the flames on his hand and set the other soldier on fire. They were good, forcing them back, until the elf entered the fray, firing off lighting spells right and left. Harry feinted low and moved to stab him, but he a bolt of lightning caught him in the chest and disrupted his magicka. He snapped manacles over Harry's wrist.

"Damned faithless Imperials! I will find you and release you. Don't lose hope." Aela shouted over the din. She was good, but there were too many, and they forced her to flee.

"Kill her. She can't be allowed to escape." Harry kicked at the thalmor with his legs as hard as he could. He would not go easy. "None of that now," the elf said, grabbing Harry by the arm hard enough to bruise. "C'mon. boy, you'll live…for the time being." To the other two, he said, "Let's get back to the Embassy. Elenwen will be pleased. Very pleased."


	25. That One Talent Which Is Death to Hide

**Unknown**

"Wake up, you stupid brat." Harry stirred uneasily as they led him blindfolded from the carriage. He tripped over the uneven ground. He felt the change in light as they entered some kind of building. A few metres in, they took his blindfold off.

His captors force-marched Harry down a hallway. Most of the doors where closed, but one of the guards knocked on a door at the end. They jostled Harry inside, forcing Harry down into the seat and locking one of the manacles around the arm of the chair.

The room itself was very luxurious, although decorated in a style unfamiliar. Harry hadn't seen anything like it in Skyrim so far. There were no furs or animal heads here. They'd panelled the room in a style reminiscent of home. Expensive rugs lined the floor. He even saw brocade hangings, which made him think of Aunt Petunia. The richly woven fabric gave him a feeling of being out of place. Truth be told, he missed the furs.

"Oh, don't manhandle the poor boy. What must he think of us?" One dug his gauntleted hand into Harry's shoulder. "None of that. Leave us." The guards looked at each other over Harry's head. "Now." They walked out of the room, their posture tense.

"Well, well, well. Where are my manners? I'm Elenwen. And you are…?" She trailed off expectantly.

Harry remained silent.

"Would you like something to eat? To drink? I'm sorry for my inhospitality, but this was really the only way to arrange a visit with you." Harry just stared blankly at her. Her false smile faltered a little, but she continued. "I'd heard rumours that Venathel had a child. She attended one of my parties, you know. She caused a great stir. The life of the party, really. She and I go a long way back," she said, sugar dripping from her voice.

_What does she think I am? Barmy?_

"We met in Cyrodiil, you know. Old friends, you know." She smiled. "I knew her mother. Rielle. Does she ever talk about her?" She took his silence as the negative. "Pity. She did a great service for the Empire once. I did wonder when I heard about you, if you might be an elfling. Strange that I see a Breton child before me. You must be adopted."

Harry still said nothing.

"Too bad I didn't know her father. They say he died before she was born. But there's the most interesting rumours, considering when she was born. The Last Dragonborn born so soon after the death of the last Dragonblooded emperor. Did you know your 'mother' is over two-hundred years old?"

Harry jerked his head up. Elenwen's smile grew real. "So you _do_ understand what I'm saying. I thought so." She moved over to Harry, towering over him where he sat. "It's cute, but you can cut the act. I know who and what she really is now. She's quite rude, you know. Crashing my party and running off with everything that wasn't nailed down. Murdered my people and posed the bodies in compromising fashions. Such blatant disregard for her kin and our way of life.

"She thought she was clever, escaping us in Skingrad and having the Count's men lead us on a merry chase around the Empire. I honestly never thought I see her again when they promoted me to head the Embassy in this backwater. I thought I was being punished. I never expected this opportunity.

"You may or may not be Dragonborn as the rumours state. But what you are is a very useful coercion tool. And until you desire to speak, I think the best place for you is the dungeons." All her good humour disappeared. She barked the orders and the guards, and they took him away.

As they entered the dungeon, Harry saw cell after cell filled with people in varying states of abuse. Many had three or four prisoners in a cell. Not a single one was empty. Some looked painfully thin, while others had the sharp-red scars of the recently healed. Still some had fresh injuries. Harry shuddered as he saw bloody bones. He had yet to see an empty cell as they walked. One person knelt in a bloodstain, hands clasped together praying to Talos to set her free.

The guard in golden armour shoved Harry unceremoniously into the cell. He bumped his head against the coarse surface of the wall in the back. He fell back and saw stars. The room was dark, almost preternaturally so. His eyes had difficulty adjusting.

"Why'd they put you in here with me? They think I'm going to eat you?" The figure next to him spat out in a raspy voice. "I don't kill for free."

Harry was too tired to be frightened as he gazed over to see horns jutting out of the head of something that must be an argonian with poisonous green skin and wide yellow eyes. He looked draconic, but brighter and mottled with black markings. He wore the rough burlap common to prisoners. As he spoke, his mouth opened to reveal sharp teeth.

Still the wonder must have shown on his face, for the lizard-like creature scoffed. "What's the matter? Never seen an argonian before?"

Harry shook his head. It appeared to mollify the argonian. "Well, that's something. We are pretty rare in Skyrim. Damn cold." He lashed his tail, before turning back to Harry and asking, "What's a child doing in here? You aren't a vampire are you?" Harry shook his head again.

The argonian straightened up as another thought occurred to him. "They didn't put you here to kill me, did they?" Harry shrugged. "What, you mute?" Harry shrugged again. "Great. And here I was hoping for some conversation."

Harry leaned against the wall and looked up. He wanted to say something, but he'd learned the hard way you never knew when people were watching. "I'm Zara." The silence grew as Harry didn't say anything.

After a long time, Zara spoke again. "I think I'll call you Arnie. You have the same smell about you." Harry wrinkled his nose and used his bound hands to lift up his shirt to sniff it. That caused Zara to laugh. "You're a regular comedian, aren't you?"

The dark nature of the cells made telling time impossible. Occasionally a scream sounded. The first few times Harry winced or blanched. "You get used to it after a while," Zara said about the fifth time.

More silence. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but someone came by with some hard bread and water. He took a drink and nearly spat it out at the brackish taste. "Yeah. Probably should have warned you about that." He downed his own drink no problem. "Guess they don't think anything about you sharing rations with an argonian. We don't get rations as good as the elves or the men. Maybe they'll figure it out. Eventually." Harry shook his head. "Hey, it could happen. You could end up being an asset to me."

The long silence gave Harry time to think about his options. How could he use his skills to get out of this? The dungeon was small and square, about fifteen steps either way. He could try to make it out. He could probably surprise the guard with a kick when he came in to feed him, run a dagger through with his teeth, grab the keys and escape. But that would leave him surrounded by a horde of hostile enemies in a place he was unfamiliar with.

Other thoughts passed his mind. Ven was that old? If Harry had to guess, he would have said she was in her thirties. Harry didn't get what else she was saying about her parents. Ven never talked about her past. He'd tried bringing it up once, but she'd changed the subject and asked him about his.

_What else did she mean?_ Ven seemed honourable. She wasn't the type to steal and murder with abandon, was she? But he had to consider the source. The thought still left him troubled.

Two days passed by in this fashion with Zara chatting to him about inane things to pass the time. Deep into Harry guessed was night on the second day, Zara pulled something out of his pocket. It was long and thin with a hooked end." "I've got a se-cret~~" he sing-songed. "My very own personal key. Want to go with?" Harry nodded. "I thought so. It might take a couple of more days. I'm waiting for something, you see. The time's got to be just right."

Harry tilted his head, question clear. "Oh, I'll know. You get to see a master at work. Lucky you."

_Lucky me. Yeah, right._


	26. Destruction Ice is Also Great

Time was running out. He couldn't stay here any longer. It made his cupboard seem downright homey. Harry chewed on his lip and concentrated magicka to his loosely wrapped feet while Zara looked on, bemused. As puzzled as Harry could tell, anyway. Four days brought him no closer to being able to understand argonian facial expressions.

With his hands bound, and properly this time, Harry had little recourse but to try another option to train his magic. He'd made a promise to himself. _Never again._ And he'd meant it. So he recalled the primer on elemental spells, and channelled that thick blue feeling he'd come to know as magic through his feet.

He knew cold. Even if he hadn't wintered in Hogwarts, the Throat of the World had sharp enough teeth to let him know the cold. He'd had cold blisters from staying out there too long. He kept that in mind as he concentrated. Anger could burn cold, too. That's how he felt, too. Cold. Numb. Dream-like. Perhaps the silence had chilled him; perhaps it was something in him that had already been growing since that day beside the White River. He deliberately didn't think of Stenvar. Burning cold alternating with the burning mad heat of injustice.

Aunt Petunia always looked at him with cold eyes. One of his earliest memories, small hands reaching towards her the way he'd seen Dudley do, only for them to be smacked away by the back of her hand.

He heard a deep, growling laugh, and a voice whispered, _fo_. He shivered.

It was hard to focus. He felt dizzy; maybe from lack of food. Maybe from the nightmares he had of the dragon. The way the hounds almost tore him apart. The thrill of the hunt in his dreams, both a blessing and a curse. But he'd figured out the trick to things. _It's so easy_. You do it and you live, you fail and you die.

And little by little, the cold radiated outward from his feet, covering the damp stone of the floor in frost. So enthralled as he was in his success, he jumped when he heard Zara say, "Neat trick."

He very nearly said thanks, but stopped himself at the last moment. His eyes flicked up to see Zara's genuine surprise. If the eye ridges were synonymous with eyebrows. "Aren't you a little young for a mage?"

Harry just grinned, showing his teeth, and shrugged, toying with the small tail of hair he'd tied using a scrap ripped from his tunic.

He'd had a few more sessions of "alone-time" with Elenwen. Each time she attempted to ply him with food so he'd provide information. Even gone so far as to give him parchment and a quill. He frustrated her; she wasn't going to get anything from him. He couldn't wait on Aela either, although he hoped she was all right. But she could take care of herself. And so could he. _Never again,_ he told himself.

It was time to get rations. Harry heard the slam and clank of cages opening and closing. He heard the crackle of lighting magic and the sound of screaming. The food was never enough. The water scarcely cleaner than the first day. The sounds of torture continued throughout all hours of the night. Zara said they killed you only if you were lucky. The sound of a key in the lock and Harry leapt forward to make his move, only for a leathery palm to firmly grasp his shoulder. A subtle shake of Zara's head, and Harry hung back. He did a double-take when he saw the light grey skin of the hooded guard. He'd seen a few dunmer here, but they were rare, and never as part of the dungeon guard.

"Take your rations, you filthy lizard." The guard said. Harry heard a clatter as something slid across the floor.

"Thank you," Zara said, sitting forward in a relaxed pose, more calmly than Harry might have supposed. He swept his tail, and there was a scrape of metal in the direction of the hay piles where they slept. Harry peered over and saw him pull out a scrap of paper hidden in the bread. He read it quickly before Zara put it away.

_V—Tonight. 2→R._

_G._

Next to the two, an arrow pointed right. "Oh, yes." Zara's mouth curved into a smile. "Excellent."

Harry pulled his bound palms to his chest in a question and looked pointedly towards the door. He winked at Harry.

The rest of that day passed more slowly than usual. Harry passed the time by channelling as much cold as he could through the bars with his feet. He challenged himself to make it colder, more intense. Soon, the frost grew thick and cold enough to burn. Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Knock it off," Zara said, rubbing his arms.

He focused on the hinges, making it ever colder. Then he switched to fire, keeping the same intensity. After mere moments, they heard a sharp creak. The sudden temperature change formed a long, large wrench in the metal as the weight caused the door to sag.

"Well I'll be," Zara said. "You're a clever little mage, aren't you?" Harry just rocked back and forth on his heels. Wrapping his hands in one of his footwraps, Zara gave the door a firm push. The shrill sound of shearing metal—deafening in the silent prison.

Zara twitched his long nose. "Too loud." Keeping his hands wrapped, he moved to the other side of the cell. He jiggled the pick in the lock for a few moments, and just like that, the door swung open, before the weight caused it to list sideways.

Zara retrieved the dagger and slit Harry's bonds. "There you are."

Harry desperately wanted to ask about it, but before he could open his mouth, Zara disappeared. "See you," the empty space said.

And Harry was free. He crept through the hallway as quietly as he could, following the muffled sounds of footsteps. He heard a groan and a gurgle, and the guard sank to the floor, blood leaking out of his neck as he clutched at it. Harry stared at him impassively. He stepped over the dead body. Near the entrance, he found a cache of weapons, locating his by the bright reflection in the dull candlelight. The sworls marked it as his.

He moved out on the first floor, peering carefully to the left and right. There was an odd dearth of guards. He moved through the opulent hall.

Just a little bit more, and he would be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gnosis, noun; etymology, Greek – personal, intuitive knowledge, as opposed to intellectual, objective knowledge. A type of spiritual insight. Innate knowledge of spiritual mysteries.


	27. The Atrocity of Sunsets

She scrabbled at ground with the rock in her hand, digging. The pain helped her think. Helped her remember who she was.

It was so easy to forget.

She couldn't even remember how long she'd been there in her moments of lucidity. They came and went like the smell of old perfume on the wind. Tantalizing, familiar, but not enough to ground her.

Her dank hair fell in her face, blood matting the ends as she burrowed with her hands. Her nails, cracked and bleeding, left wet red streaks as she scooped outwards with her rock. She smelled the fresh air on a hint of wind, and it invigorated her, giving her the strength to dig a bit farther through the dirt. They'd placed the makeshift prison cells on granite, but they'd erred. The back of the cell stood on sandy, loose soil. A fact she took advantage of whenever she could.

Her blood burned. By her estimation, she had less than a day left to escape. She would die tonight unless she managed to escape and find a cure.

The sound of footsteps caused her to kick the threadbare bedroll over the hole. She crawled her way back to the centre of the cell and knelt, putting her hands on her thighs as she sat back on her heels.

"Oh you silly girl. You slipped out of the thrall again, didn't you?" She said nothing. "What are we going to do with you?" She spat a wad of mucus and blood at his feet. He moved his head and sniffed at the coppery scent of blood in the air. He knelt down, ran his finger through it, and lifted his hand up to his nose. "Sanguinare Vampiris. Oh dear. Someone was quite careless with you, weren't they? And you were so promising. So much more than cattle. Pity."

"I will kill you," she said, her voice hoarse.

He carried on as if he hadn't heard her. "We have enough vampire minions. Too many, my dear Salonia might say."

"She hates you."

The figure shrugged. "Who doesn't? No matter. She's just angry about the loss of the boy. A tough nord woman like you? So promising, and to lose you to vampirism so early." He grabbed her chin, tilting her head and looking her in the eyes. "Still, I could use someone like you at the Keep to run interference with Vingalmo. He's been asking too many questions lately."

"I'd rather die!" She ground out through her teeth.

"Sure, but where's the fun in that? You're going to die anyway in a matter of hours. Why spend the rest of your life in agony?" She said nothing. He walked towards her, holding out his hand about to cast the spell that would put her under thrall again.

She exploded in a flurry of movement, leaping up and head-butting him in nose as hard as she could. She felt it crack but didn't take time to judge how effective her hit had been. He swung at her, growling. She ducked and followed up with an uppercut to the solar plexus. She rammed her other shoulder into him with all her might, knocking him down. She ripped a strip of cloth from the loose part of his tunic and tied his hands together. She grabbed a leather strap from his armour and looped it around his hands tightly.

"That won't hold me for long."

"Long enough, you bastard." She kicked him in the side for good measure to the beautiful sound of cracking ribs.

He wiped the blood from where his fang had pierced his lip on his sleeve. "When you change, if you refuse to feed, they will know you for what you are. And you'll come running back."

"I wouldn't count on it." She gave him one more kick for good measure, ignoring his grunt. She stole his key then locked him in the cell, but not before gagging him with a dirty foot wrap.

She lacked her armour but found her fine steel claymore. It was quick work to make her way out of the cave. She knew the patrols, learned them by rote while she was under thrall. People always came in and out of it. It was a hub of some sort, some kind of base for something they were searching for. She dodged two thralled patrols. She staggered in the bright sunlight as it touched her. It sucked her energy made her feel weak. Her stomach ached from hunger. She moved on.

Her first order of business was to get away, find a priest or something to give her a blessing, Peyrite's curse upon her but she was running out of time. As each hour passed, her thirst grew. The lengthening shadows increased her urgency. She touched the dimpled scars in her neck with blood-soaked hands.

Just a little bit further, she kept telling herself. She crossed over a river, stumbling into a cabin as she tripped over nothing. She fell to the floor, exhausted. She had enough awareness to pull herself away from the open door. She curled up in the cool spring air, pulling her knees to her chest, and fell asleep.

—

Harry ducked behind a wall as he saw people in armour thundering up the stairs. He heard a loud shout. "Rulindil!" and some other words he couldn't make out. _Zara must be busy. Or something._

He found it oddly surprising he had yet to see Elenwen. Surely she would be at the heart of all the commotion. He couldn't think about now. The door to the outside stood less than ten metres away from him. Just a big stretch of empty hall.

He crept slowly forward. He didn't make a sound as he made his way slowly through the hall. He was halfway through when he heard the clank of golden armour coming up behind him. He looked frantically to the left and to the right. There was nowhere to hide. He pressed himself flat against the wall.

He turned his head to see the guard that had captured him right as the elf spotted him. The elf snarled, "Why you little!"

Harry didn't have to think about it. The word bubbled up and escaped him almost without his permission. " _FO_!"

The ice blasted the altmer back, knocking him into a wall and freezing his armour. Harry followed with a blast of ice, focusing it intensely as he could. The yellow skin of his enemy turned a pale white-blue. Some parts of him blackened to purple, eaten by frostbite, the blood in his body frozen. Harry took a deep breath, raised the steel dagger that Aela had given him, and slashed the elf under the neck. The elf gurgled, raised his chilled hands to his throat to attempt to heal before he bled out, but Harry was already gone. Their mistake for needing him alive.

He darted past the two guards at the door as they drew their swords and shouted at him. He paid them no mind, heading for the treeline as fast as he could. Once there, checking around him just once to make sure no one saw him, he broke into wolf form with a roar.

_The Wolf snapped up the blood-soaked sharp-stone in his jaws, and just ran as hard and as fast as he could. He couldn't remember what he was fleeing from but he knew it was important to get away, important to find pack. He smelled nothing familiar, so he changed course, heading deeper into the snow. His only thought was to get away._

_A few minutes later, the Wolf noticed one of the Small Ones, a brother, running beside him. He could not howl, not with the sharp-stone in his mouth, so instead, he yipped playfully. The brother wuffed at him, questioning, so the Wolf sent him a series of sounds that meant Pack, search, home._

_The Small One broke away, wagging his tail, and the Wolf let him go, content as he picked up the scent of a rabbit._

Some hours later, Harry strolled through the cool spring morning, clad in a set of clothes he'd pilfered from a house. The sun shone high in the sky and he had long since lost his heading. The desperate run from the Embassy's grounds ensured that. He didn't recognize the set of the land. Not like the hot springs of Eastmarch, the forests of Falkreath, the fields of Whiterun, the rocky terrain of the Reach. No, this place was cold and boggy, filled with howling wind and unfamiliar vegetation.

He was about to find a dry place to make camp when he saw someone walking in the distance. Wary now, he drew his dagger and approached the strange figure. It wasn't until he was right up upon him he saw it was a khajit. Wide expressive eyes, a feline snout, and a long spotted tail, wearing a set of orange priest robes. It was strange seeing such intelligent eyes coming from a cat.

He spoke, the accent strange and timbre deep. "M'aiq senses you are very far from home."

Harry laughed at the understatement. "Yeah, you could say that."


	28. As Lost as You'll Find

_He spoke, the accent strange and timbre deep. "M'aiq senses you are very far from home."_

_Harry laughed at the understatement. "Yeah, you could say that."_

—

The khajiit tilted his head. "M'aiq is saying that." He shrugged, "M'aiq knows much, tells some—"

"Do you know where I am really from?" Honestly at this point, Harry wouldn't be surprised.

He chuckled. Harry watched his facial expressions with unrestrained curiosity. "M'aiq knows many things others do not. Come, Walk with M'aiq. We will talk, yes?"

"All right. What brings you out to the middle of nowhere?"

"M'aiq likes to travel. Sometimes with friends, but alone this time. Others talk too much, yes? Distract during adventuring, fight over treasure. No, this day M'aiq is hunting his misplaced manuscript."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "You write?"

"Oh yes. M'aiq shares what he has written with friends all across the realm. Some like it, some not. Some make M'aiq laugh. They like to flame the pages. They remind M'aiq of mudcrabs—horrible creatures, but easily ignored."

Harry blinked. "Ah. I see."

M'aiq inclined his head. "Some write better than M'aiq. Some write M'aiq better. It is no consequence." He waved a hand— _paw_?—in dismissal. No, that was a furry hand, with wickedly sharp claws at the ends of the fingers.

"So what _do_ you know?" Harry asked.

"Many things. Some say M'aiq is a liar. Some say snow elves are made of snow. Don't believe either of those things." They reached a divide in the road. It branched into three routes. "Now come. This path is easier."

"Why this path over that one?" Harry didn't have a direction in mind. Wouldn't know the way to go looking for Uthgerd or Solitude. At this point, he'd just like to make it back to Lakeview. Or to see Aela. Or Ven. Or, and here he swallowed heavily. Or to see Stenvar.

"So many questions!" M'aiq laughed again. "That is the question, is it not? Why this path; why not that path? It is a question we all have to ask ourselves. There are so many roads, after all."

"You do know more than what you're letting on," Harry said, pausing in his walk and crossing his arms.

"M'aiq is one of the few that knows how little one knows."

"Quit talking in circles!" Harry said with a huff.

"M'aiq does not talk in circles. To say here an ellipse? There an oval? Hmph. It is the path you need walk." M'aiq reached over and ran a sharp claw over the pattern of Harry's scar. His ears flattened and swivelled behind him. "You have something borne of madness. It drives your path, even here."

Harry shivered. A lump settled in his throat. M'aiq was not the first person here to make note of his scar. "Madness?" he choked out. _Voldemort_.

The khajiit lashed his tail once, before it became very still, the tip of it curled. "Here. Something to help. M'aiq makes a present of it." He put a small vial and a bag of something that shifted in Harry's hands as he moved it. "Though if you were to find a Colovian fur helm, M'aiq would not mind receiving it in return. Or a set of callipers. M'aiq searches, but simply cannot find them, no matter where he looks."

"Thanks, I think?" Harry said, trailing off.

He shrugged. "M'aiq likes Skyrim the way it is, as the Ones Who Develop intended." He narrowed his slitted eyes. "One last thing. Ensure that you are not caught in the Spinner's web, yes?"

"What?" Harry asked, bewildered. The whole conversation had been surreal.

"This path will take you to Whiterun. Be sure to talk to Ri'saad. He has something of yours."

"What do you mean by that?" The khajiit started to walk away from him, heading back the way he came.

"M'aiq is tired now. Go bother someone else."

Harry broke into a light jog as M'aiq picked up his pace. "But wait! I don't understand."

"M'aiq is done talking. Find again, might talk again. But not now."

Harry moved to speak again, but he dropped the vial he was holding, and it clattered to the ground. He reached down to pick it up, and when he lifted his head, the khajiit was nowhere to be found.

—

"And what you're saying is true? Commander Maro is in Skyrim?" the small child said, her high voice sceptical.

"Not him. Not yet. His son, Gaius, however, is." The older man's voice was a sharp contrast.

"Nepotism at its finest."

"That's no lie," her friend said. "But don't let it fool you. They're here for another reason."

"Oh?"

"Maro's still after that bounty for the Dark Brotherhood. Four thousand septims, last I heard."

"Oh, is that all? It should be ten thousand at the very least!" she stomped her feet, pouting.

"Well, I'm not the one making the bounty. What, you thinking of taking it up?" She rolled her eyes. "What did Veezara report?"

"That Rulindil sold us out, of course. I told you we couldn't trust them," she said, shaking her finger at the taller man.

"It was good coin, Babette! Something we are in dire need of, I might add."

"Either way, Arnbjorn, the debt is paid, him and his lieutenant. Got him, the one he put a contract on, and his second-in-command. Not bad for a week's work."

"He didn't get the imperial spy?" The old nord growled.

"No, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The Oculatus has it in for us, but put them in the corner, and they flee like dogs." Arnbjorn narrowed his eyes at that. "Sorry," Babette said in a flippant tone.

"With the Civil War, you think they'd have more to worry about. Can't imagine they're too pleased with the Thalmor letting him go."

"Can't imagine they're too pleased with the Thalmor in general, but you think the Empire's going to do anything about it?"

"Anything else of note?" Arnbjorn asked, changing the subject.

"A few things. A powerful young mage escaped. Something of a prodigy."

"Powerful?" Festus scoffed. "A prodigy? I highly doubt it. How young?"

"Said he was around my 'age.'" Babette laughed. "He said he showed a shocking display of control of his magic. Channelled it through his feet. Extreme heat and extreme cold, enough to work metal."

Festus scowled. "No complex incantations? No resurrected corpses? Ha! I believe it when I see it."

"Ooh, someone's _jea_ -lous~" Babette sing-songed. "There's something else. You'll be interested in this, Arbjorn. He's a werewolf!"

Arnbjorn's eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline. "Surely he's too young to be a Companion? One of the feral bloodlines?"

"Here's the thing: Veezara said he smelt like you!" Babette said, far too excited.

"Just what are they up to?" the grey-haired nord murmured.

"While you're gossiping, sister, do you know when Astrid's going to be back?" Festus asked.

Babette raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't know? She's gone off to look for someone that was supposed to have arrived weeks ago with an 'important' package."

"Festus, where were you? She said she told everyone." Arnbjorn said.

"When did she leave?" the old man asked.

"Several days ago," Arnbjorn said, his voice slow as if talking to an infant.

"Wasn't that the night you were testing that 'new-and-improved' flame spell on that nord?" Babette asked.

"Right, right," Festus muttered.

"So are you going to do anything about it?" Babette asked.

"You know what," Arnbjorn said, rising to his feet. "I think I am. Just to see what's going on. Nazir," he called across the room to the redguard. "Take care of things here, would you?"

"Don't I always?" Nazir said, his voice like glass over rocks.


	29. That Light, Thro' Storm and Night

Harry twirled the small vial in his hands. He'd made camp for the night at an abandoned bandit camp some ways out from the road. At least he hoped they'd abandoned it. He'd had to, with the way the sky was spitting out rain.

He didn't think too often on the life he left behind anymore, but on nights like this, he'd kill for a proper tent, the kind with a zipper and poles that didn't have cracks that let in the wind and the water. Thing of it was, he wasn't joking about the killing part either. Not anymore.

He shivered in the cold and dreamed of hot water. Turn on a tap and there it was. The fire in the common room. Of course, he'd people at Hogwarts talk about warming charms, but he didn't know the incantation. Wouldn't know how his magic would react to using it here.

_At least lumos worked._ He opened his hand and the little blue magelight hovered above his head, sparkling merrily. He half-smiled at the light above him, and it seemed to shine brighter at his pleasure. It wasn't what he was used to, but he could command it with _lumos_ and _nox_.

Which had led him to his current project: trying to produce sparks.

Fire had been easy, once he'd figured out how to channel the spell without a focus. His magic knew the path already. _Incendio_ was in the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_. Ice had been a little trickier, but spring hadn't been enough to thaw Skyrim, not yet. His magic resonated with the chill in the air, the chill in his heart. It had been enough.

Fire burned, and cold burned, but lightning burrowed. It took control of your body and your nerves and stole your magicka. It could even stop a heart. Armour didn't help, and in most cases, it conducted the lightning very well. Not malachite or ebony of course, but few knew how to work that and so it was rare. Lighting would be a vital weapon to his survival.

Skyrim was a hard land. You learned to grow tough or you'd die. Learned to pace yourself. He'd learned from his past mistakes; he was exhausted, but he still had enough power in reserve if something happened.

Just in case.

So he flicked the vial back and forth through his fingers, and thought back to the strange khajiit and the road he'd set him on. "Something to help," he'd said. What exactly was in that vial? And should he drink it?

Well, he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, and the brave of heart had to stand for something, right? He licked his lips and uncorked the vial. He swallowed half the contents. It was very sweet, and the taste lingered on his tongue. _Huh_.

He sat there and stared at the small bottle, disappointed. He sighed and made to lay down in the bedroll when something flickered out of the corner of his eye. He leapt to his feet, glancing out of the skins to peer into the rain. Nothing. He sighed again. Before he could turn around, he caught another glimpse. This time, it stayed at the corners of his eyes a little longer. He shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them, it was still there. No, _she_.

She resembled Ven. Pointed ears, dark skin, long auburn hair with small plaits woven here and there, in a deep purple evening gown, richly embroidered. She lifted her hands, laden with rings, and beckoned to Harry.

Donning his oiled cloak, he followed her into the rain. Every so often, she disappeared, only to reappear a few metres away, laughing and gesturing all the while. A myriad of colours cascaded around his vision.

He chased after her, surprised to note he'd become faster. He burst through a copse of trees to find a wide-open plain. She winked at him and signalled for him to come towards her. When he reached her this time, however, she stayed there and grasped both of his hands.

They began twirling in a fast dance. Harry didn't know the steps, but he struggled along as best he could. The wild dance threatened to have him fall over, but the more they danced, the better he became. A swarm of lunar moths and torchbugs encircled them.

Lightning struck a few metres away, and the sound of thunder threatened to shake the world to its knees. She laughed again, and Harry found himself laughing with her. He tilted his head back and his hood fell down. The hard rain soaked through his shaggy hair almost instantly, and he opened his mouth to catch the drops as he paused for a breath.

Lightning struck again, this time between them. Harry fell over as the shock travelled through his system, locking his joints and causing every nerve to light up as if it were on fire. He didn't know how long he lay there in the yellowed grass before he fought to his feet.

He blinked and she turned into an old man, translucent. Another blink and she was back, tilting her head with an expression of concern. She spread out her arms and pointed to the sky. Harry's head spun. As he copied her, stretching his arms and pointing at the sky, lightning flashed. He lowered his arm and the lightning followed, striking the ground in front of him.

He started, but the lightning didn't arc towards him this time. He lifted his arm again. Thunder rumbled ominously above. He brought it down again, this time farther away. The lightning followed. He giggled, swaying on his feet.

With a wide sweep of his arms, he mimed conducting an orchestra. He was the maestro of the storm—Wild, uncontrolled, free. The multiple strikes had his hair constantly on end, but it didn't stop him. He increased his intensity, the frequency of the strikes. .

Thunder drums boomed. The wind whistled through the open heath in melody. The crackle of lightning splitting the air mimicked brass instruments. The wind and rain and lightning coalesced into a familiar shape that winged above the storm in a light show of power.

_Strun_ , it roared, lighting shooting from its mouth. _Strun._ The word vibrated down to his bones, settling in his marrow. Harry imitated the roar, bringing both his arms down simultaneously as two pillars of lighting lit up the sky with a deafening crescendo. Lightning struck again and again as he called for it, laughing so hard it was almost hysterical.

It felt right. It felt _real._ It was the strongest feeling he'd had since the vampires attacked him. He was drunk from the euphoria. He ran with his arms outstretched, spinning and dancing with the storm, a wild thing.

He ran fast, ran hard through miles of open space leaving black marks and exploded trees in his wake. He ran until he grew tired, his body buzzing with energy but his head swimming. He leant over, hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.

The thunderstorm stopped. He sank to his knees in the wet grass. His head lolled over, and he laid down, using his arm as a pillow for his head. He closed his eyes.

He felt a cool hand on his forehead, sweeping his wet hair out of his face, and fell to sleep.

He awoke with a groan the next morning. His cold clothes rubbed against his skin uncomfortably. They itched. His head pounded. His mouth tasted of bile. _What happened last night?_

He lifted his hands; they shook. He couldn't remember what he'd done the night before. He'd tried casting sparks, he recalled that. He glanced down at his hands. Pulling the magicka out was like wading through mud, but once he did, he held a cackling ball of electricity in his hands.

And a whisper of a storm in his mind:

_Strun_.


	30. The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows

Harry's unease gave way to relief upon seeing Dragonsreach in the distance. The rising sun slowly dried out his clothes, but the damp cloth still clung to his skin.

"Something to help," he muttered, rubbing his aching head at the temples. "Bloody idiot." Served him right for drinking the contents of an unknown vial, even after Ven's lectures on poison. It had helped in a way, he supposed, as he generated electricity in his hand.

The words he'd learned hovered on the edges of his mind, whispering to him. _Fus. Su. Fo. Strun._ His mind instinctively latched on to their meanings. Force. Air. Frost. Storm.

He closed his eyes against the onslaught of voices and carried on. He had things to do in Whiterun. If he remembered correctly, Whiterun was effectively neutral. It had yet to declare for the Empire or the Stormcloaks, so it should be relatively safe for the moment.

He spotted the khajiit caravan up ahead. They were working; setting up camp. He addressed the first felid. "Ri'saad?" She shook her head and pointed a claw in the direction of the largest tent.

Harry walked that way. "Ri'saad?" he asked of the group milling about, setting down rugs, preparing a cooking fire.

The most ornately dressed cat came forward. "'Tis I," he said. "The young boy our mutual friend spoke of. You must be Hahrii, then, yes?"

"Harry," he said, correcting his pronunciation.

Ri'saad twitched his whiskers. "Harry then. I was told this was yours." He held out a diamond shaped pendant encrusted with gems. He touched it gingerly, with silk between his hand and the gold. The edges of the pendant rose above where it looked to have once had a setting. There was space, perhaps, for a thick chain to attach to it to form a necklace.

Harry stared. "I've never seen that before in my life."

"Nevertheless, it is yours." He placed it in Harry's hand and closed his fingers over it. "If you see our mutual friend again, tell him one favour is repaid." Ri'saad looked him up and down, raised his eyebrows, and asked, "Would you like to see some of my wares?"

Harry glanced down at the mud and blood covering his wet clothing. "That would be great, actually." They haggled for a few minutes as Harry purchased a few of the things he needed. As he placed the pendant in his ruck, an edge of the silk fell away and his hand touched the metal directly.

He yelped as it shocked him. He heard a thousand voices screaming in his mind. He yanked his hand away, gasping as if he'd run a race.

_What in Oblivion was that?_ _This day keeps getting better and better._ He wrapped it back up carefully and continued on the path to the city.

He hadn't moved far past the gate when someone tackled his midsection in a massive hug "Harry! You're back!" He tensed at the movement, one hand moving automatically to his dagger while his other one readied a spell.

He blinked. "Lucia?"

"Mhmm," she said against his chest. "You've been gone for _ever_!"

Harry smiled, relaxing. "Oh, I doubt it was that long. Forever is a good bit of time, you know."

"There's no one here! Aela's come and gone, and Braith and Lars won't play with me anymore. Frothar does sometimes, but he can't sneak out too often or his father will catch him."

"Frothar, huh?"

Lucia nodded, her face colouring a deep red. Harry grinned. "I see."

"Don't say anything!" she pleaded, holding on his arm

"All right," Harry said, laughing. "I won't. Though he might get the wrong idea." Harry gestured meaningfully to his arm. Lucia jumped away as if she'd been scalded. He laughed again.

Lucia nattered on while Harry listened with half an ear. It was nice to relax a little while and listen since he'd spent so long in fear of his life. He'd never really appreciated how peaceful Whiterun was until just now.

"—And the other Dragonborn was here just a little while ago."

"Ven?" Harry said, turning to look at her, his face serious "She's back?"

"She was for a day or so. On urgent business with the Jarl, Frothar said. She left though, some time ago. She's supposed to return soon."

"Good." They both had a lot to talk about. He had to ask her about what Elenwen said at the very least. He supposed she'd had good intentions in leaving him behind, but...

The fact that things never worked out that way was something he was beginning to learn. It'd taken a lot of grief and bloodshed. Skyrim didn't handle mistakes too kindly. Or naïveté.

"Here, Harry. This is the house I've seen the housecarl come in and out of, so it's probably her house."

"Thanks, Lucy."

She tilted her head at the name. "Lucy? I like it." She kissed his cheek. Harry wiped it off and grumbled, but he didn't mean it.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He waited a long moment before knocking on the door again. He rocked on his heels. Then he started humming under his breath, one of the Weasley twins' renditions of the Hogwarts song—the funeral dirge.

The door opened. "Yes?" A dark-haired woman stood tall, clad in functional steel armour.

"Is this Ven's house?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Do you have a message or a package to deliver?" the woman asked.

"No," Harry said. "Yes," he amended. "If the package is me."

"What do you mean?"

He pointed both thumbs up. "Congratulations, it's a boy?"

She still looked at him puzzled, so Harry held out his hand. "Harry James Potter at your service, but as I don't actually make pots, I think the surname a nord would use is Venson? Nice to meet you."

Her brow furrowed. "Lady Ven adopted you?"

Harry shrugged. "For a given measure of adoption, sure. I call her mum, anyway."

"How can I be sure you are who you say you are?" the woman asked.

"You know, I honestly don't know. Hmm. Her horse is named Alfsigr. Her seal has crescent moons, a rose, wheat and honey on it," he said, "but I don't have the letter on me. It was left at Lakeview. So can I come in and stay now? I mean I'm technically a Companion, so I guess I could head there, but I don't know if they know that, so I'd rather not raise a fuss. Also, I don't know if I have enough for the pub."

Her face softened. "I'm still not sure of you, but she is due back within the next few days. I don't see why you'd lie about something like this. You can stay until then."

"Brilliant!" He said, and walked in. The house was small and cosy, covered in the trappings Harry had come to know as the traditional nord style. The weapons caught his eye. She'd arranged a large variety in racks, and several glowed with the sheen Harry had come to know as magical enhancements.

What surprised him, however, was the massive amount of books. They were stacked everywhere, putting the library at Lakeview to shame. He mentioned so, and the woman turned to him, a little shocked. "She's still in the process of bringing everything over."

"I see," Harry said. "By the way, I don't think I caught your name," he trailed off.

"It's Lydia."

"Oh, nice to meet you, Lydia. Do you think she'd mind if I read a little of these?" One volume in particular caught his eye, and he definitely had caught the embossed symbol of a spell tome.

"No, I don't think so. Go ahead."

"Thank you," Harry said, and he settled in to read. And as he read, he came to a startling realisation that grew the further he read, leading him to one conclusion.

He spent most of the next few days that way as the beginnings of a plan blossomed in his mind. It was time to stop running. He'd have to research a few more things, but for the most part, it should be enough to get the thalmor off his back, or at the very least, give them pause.

Or invite more trouble. And he wasn't sure Ven would approve. But he was a Gryffindor, and what was a plan without a few risks? He'd have to thank Elenwen later for giving him the opportunity. She'd put him on the path to this. He wouldn't have known otherwise.

Let it begin.


	31. A Torment Thrice Threefold

"It can still be fixed, I swear!"

Disdain dripped from its voice like the blackest ooze. "You do yourself little credit. It appears I will have to take care of this myself."

"I feel it! It's close to me now, trapped in a mortal body."

"Kill the mortal and take its soul?" it drawled. "After your last failure? No, I will send my agent. Perhaps he will succeed where you have failed."

* * *

"If we stop now, I don't think we're going to make it to the summit in time. We still have to retrieve the Jarl from Whiterun for the peace talks," Erandur said from his mount.

"I don't care."

"Ulfric will think you made him wait on purpose," he warned.

"Ulfric can go hang."

"The Thalmor delegation is already there by now. It can't be a good idea to let the factions intermingle." She just shot him a glare.

"Ven? What's gotten into you?"

She didn't reply, choosing instead to cast her eyes over the horizon. They were losing time. The sun had nearly set, and Masser was just rising over the mountains. Whiterun had been just there, but they'd reached the road to Riverwood, and she'd nudged Alfsigr down that way. "I'm going home."

"But what—"

"If you're so worried about it, _you_ go get the Jarl."

"I will stay. Mara knows you need someone to watch your back." Erandur said.

"Then quit carrying on about it."

They rode on in silence. Ven felt his red eyes watching her as she rode ahead. She appreciated his concern to a certain extent, but lately it had become bothersome. She was a warrior and not someone that needed to be coddled.

She couldn't describe what she'd seen or what she had heard to anyone. Who could? The very heart of Magnus himself waking, burning her from inside and out with the sound of a dragon's roar high in her ears.

She'd been irrevocably changed by her trip through Oblivion, in ways she couldn't begin to comprehend. Save for the butterflies, she'd be lost. She shivered with a chill that had nothing to do with the last lingering moments of spring air. A bright orange butterfly flew around her head, landing on the curve of her bow as it lay on the pommel of the saddle before ascending back into the air.

Messing with magicka she couldn't understand, and it still left her with no way to return Harry to his world.

It had been over three months since she'd last seen Harry, and she worried for him every step of her journey. She hadn't meant for it to take this long, but Blackreach was massive, and every step required two more steps to keep up.

She received a missive that he made it home safely, and that was the last of it. Housecarls and stewards were one thing; they could take care of themselves, but she never had a life depending on her like that—for protection, for safety. She needed to see for herself that he made it. She had a bad feeling. Regardless of the front she'd put up in front of Harry, she had been nervous about sending a simple mercenary as protection.

She knew better than anyone how trouble found its way to the Dragonborn. She was close enough the delay would not take long, and it would give her peace of mind.

The strange things she saw in his mind still haunted her. Houses as far as the eye could see in neat little rows, not proper things but small cottages, grass choked and wrangled down like a noble's garden. Harry's descriptions of horseless carriages didn't do it justice. Noisy, like the sound of lesser daedra screeching. Something more than cobble but less than stone covering everything. No trees worth mentioning. No giant evergreens towering above the plains. No trees whispering in the wind as she walked through the Weald, through the vineyards and the farms.

How she missed Skingrad!

Night passed and day, and they were almost to her steading. Finally, they reached the foot of the hill. She perused it with a careful eye; nothing seemed out of place. She dismounted and walked Alfsigr to the stable, motioning for Erandur to do the same with Tamber. "Wait here."

The completed steading seemed larger than she planned, larger and again by half than Rosethorn Manor, her old home in Cyrodiil.. It was her first time seeing it complete since she'd left it at the hands of the Imperial contractors. It looked as it had on the blueprints. It had cost her a pretty septim, but it was worth it, Bedroom suite with half porch, alchemy tower in the back for her experiments, and kitchen to the right. Place and feed for the livestock, alchemy garden. Now if it had the casks for Rosethorn mead in the basement, it would be perfect.

As they approached the house, though, it seemed quiet. Too quiet. She didn't have a key, but the door opened easily enough.

She walked through the house in silence, her footsteps barely making a sound. The entire place looked deserted, but no dust covered the tables, and there was a fresh setting of one at the table. _Just one?_

She moved left into the bedroom. The master bed looked undisturbed, as did the other beds. The safe was still locked. She walked towards the other side of the bed and saw Harry's pack in the corner, gathering dust.

So he had made it home after all. But there was no sign of him. Perhaps she had missed him coming in? As she moved upstairs, she started growing uneasy. Still no sign. Surely he would have heard her moving around or something?

Still nothing, and no sign of Uthgerd or Rayya either. Something strange was going on.

She sensed rather than saw the presence behind her, and she drew her blade and slashed, only for it to clang painfully against a curved sword. Rayya's scimitar.

"Honor to you, my thane." The Alik'r bowed her head in greeting, her right fist over her heart.

Ven sheathed her blade. "Rayya. Well met." Rayya bowed her head. "How are things?"

"As well as can be expected. The steading is secure, at the moment, but I am afraid I let something important slip away. "

Ven's heart leaped out of her chest. "Harry?"

Rayya's face wrinkled in confusion. "I ask your pardon. What did you say?"

"Where's Harry? My son? I haven't seen my steward around either. Is Uthgerd out procuring supplies?"

"My thane, forgive the impertinence, but you don't have a steward." She completely ignored her mention of Harry. At this nonsensical statement, Ven just stared at her housecarl. Her eyes looked clear, but as she looked closer at her, she saw the hint of a scar peeking out from her head wrap.

"Take it off."

"Thane?"

"Take off your hood. Now." Rayya's blinked at the unusual request, but she did as she asked of her. Scars dotted her neck from a violent wound. Ven ran her fingers over the raised tissue. "This healed badly. What happened?"

Rayya looked down. "I cannot recall."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She held out her hand palm up, unseeing. "Blood? A wound? I was left for dead…?" Her eyes hardened. "No. Something nearly killed me. It messed with my mind. The house was a mess, ransacked, but nothing important was taken." She shook her head. "No, something important was taken. I couldn't remember. I don't remember." She clutched at her head.

Ven grabbed her by the shoulders, searching her eyes. "Nothing at all on who did this?"

"No."

"Harry," Ven said, watching her eyes closely. And there it was; a green shimmery haze clouding her eyes. A master illusionist's spell. Something of Ven's own calibre. "They made you forget. Bastards." No telling how long it would hold. How long it had already held. An insidious branch of magic.

"I am sorry, my thane."

"No, they're the ones who should be sorry." Ven swept the top of the dresser clean, knocking all sorts of things to the floor. She stalked down the stairs, pushing the long table over so that all the food and platters fell on the floor. She let out a growl, picking up a bottle of wine and throwing it against the wall so that it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

She kicked over the alchemy table in the corner, breathing hard. "They will pay for daring to threaten someone under my protection."

"It is my fault," Rayya said.

"Don't blame yourself. All is not lost." Ven took a deep breath, closing her eyes and focusing on the image of Harry in her mind. She cast clairvoyance, and it made the path immediately clear. He was still alive—northward. _Thank the gods for small mercies._

"Clean this up. Consider it punishment for your lapse in your duties."

"Yes, my thane." Rayya said, relief showing on her face. Depending on the value of what was missing, she could have her executed. But Ven wasn't like that. She left the house, slamming the door.

"Did you get what we came here for, Ven?" Erandur asked.

"No. It's Harry. He's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean? Who has him?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But when I find out, they're going to wish they were dead." Erandur kept silent. "Don't worry. It's in the direction of Whiterun. We'll make another stop."

"The Jarl will want you to travel with his train."

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it," Ven said grimly.

* * *

It was a pathetic pile of rags Aela spotted in the corner of an old decrepit shack in the middle of nowhere.

"Well, look at you. Fine mess you've gotten yourself into, barbarian. Vampires finally get tired of your attitude?" Aela said, hands on her hips. Uthgerd looked pathetic. Stringy muck-covered hair, dirt and dried blood all over her, and an eerie paleness that Aela knew all too well.

The pile of rags stirred. "S-shut up, b-bitch," the figure croaked, but her voice lacked venom. "B-bit late for a res," she cleared her throat and tried again, "rescue, isn't it?"Aela leaned over to uncover her from the thin blanket and help her to her feet, but Uthgerd shrank back. "Don't c-come too close," she rasped.

Aela frowned. "What's wrong with you? Other than the obvious?" She grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet.

Uthgerd pulled away, staggering against the wall. "D-don't you understand? I'm one of _them_! I need to feed!"

Aela struggled to keep a straight face, but she couldn't help it. She burst into laughter. "Aww, don't give yourself so much credit. You couldn't take me if your life depended on it. You're telling me I was right about you then? You finally admit your lack of control?" She smirked. "Did Uthgerd the Unbroken finally break?

The woman lunged for her, throwing a fist at her face. Aela met her head-on, and they grappled for a moment before Aela twisted her arm behind her back and forced her against the wall. "I hate you!"

"There's the spirit I was looking for," Aela said, unconcerned. "You in your right mind again?" Nothing but silence. "Good. Now stop your whining. Harry's in trouble." Her hate was nothing new, but Uthgerd was always willing to put it aside for Harry's sake.

"Harry? He's alive? Thank Talos!" she said, sagging in relief. "They sent the hounds and I couldn't do anything to stop it, those bastards."

"He was when I last saw him, despite the best efforts of them and a dragon. The thalmor, on the other hand, are a different story."

"You let him get captured by the thalmor?" Uthgerd said.

Aela just crossed her arms. "That is an interesting accusation coming from you. Shall we discuss how I found Harry? Bruised and broken and barely alive? _You_ let him get taken by the vampires. But I'd rather not argue. There are things we need to do."

Aela threw the protesting woman over her shoulder, ignoring the fists that beat her leather armour. She felt lighter than a feather, and her blows did little more than sting. Uthgerd was probably doing more damage to her hands than she was to Aela. "Put me down!"

"You're going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like a child." That surprisingly shut her up. Aela moved out into the field, intent on retracing her steps and seeing if she could find a safe place to put Uthgerd.

She couldn't kill her. She'd heard rumours of a cure. She had no idea if it were true or not, but this was not a fate she'd wish on her worst enemy. And Harry had tried so hard to save her. Aela couldn't let that be in vain. She'd just keep watch on her. Vampires didn't have to feed, but Aela wouldn't contract the disease. If worse came to worse, and Uthgerd absolutely needed it, she was willing to let her.

As they continued on, a wolf surprised her by sitting down in front of her and wagging its tail. It barked a couple of short happy yips.

"What?!" Hah! Clever, clever whelp."

"What?" Uthgerd asked.

"Harry made it out. He's headed east. Towards Whiterun."

"And you know this how?"

"The wolf told me."

"The wolf told you," Uthgerd said sceptically.

"Oh, don't give me that, vampire. You know as well as I do there are things beyond mortal ken. We're both daedra touched, you fool."

"What does that mean?"

"You figure it out."


	32. This Dark is A Major Nation

Harry snapped the book shut and stretched, yawning loudly. He rubbed his stiff neck, then rose from the table. He grabbed an apple and bit into it with a satisfying crunch. He tossed _The Legendary City of Sancre Tor_ on the table and then washed his face in the water basin in the corner.

He caught sight of himself in the polished silver; heavy bags lined his eyes. So he might have been pushing it a little the past few days. He rolled his head, wincing as his neck popped. The more he thought about it, the more he felt unsure of his direction. What did he really know about Skyrim? _It had to work, though._ He couldn't see very many options that didn't end with death or dismemberment.

He smiled though, as he waved his hands and thin tendrils of bluish green magic wound their way through his clothes and over his exposed skin. Ven's books had a wealth of information that he'd only scratched the surface of. He'd learned several new spells, though they'd not been mastered, and this was perhaps the most useful and least draining of them.

Oakflesh.

His skin, the consistency of wood. His clothing, armoured as leather but still as weightless and as pliable as cloth. With his size, the discovery of the spell had been a gods-send. He was working on the next level of the spell, but it was slow going. The magic had to be tangible and thinly spread, something he'd never thought possible, and so it was deceptively difficult. It took a great deal of control to intensify the spell and increase the protection.

A thin sliver of moonlight shone down through the window. As Harry passed under the moonbeam, he shuddered. The moonlight made him antsy, restless.

He sat down in a chair and kicked back, balancing precariously on two legs, one foot against the wall for support. He took the dagger Aela gave him and started to clean the dirt out from his fingernails.

A key in the lock caused him to lean forward with a resounding boom as the chair fell to the floor. He stood up. The door swung open.

An armoured figure stepped inside, dirt on her face, her war paint smudged, her hair twisted and knotted with hard riding. "Harry," Ven said, voice filled with warmth.

The dagger Harry held clattered to the ground. His eyes filled with tears. He blinked them back, before running to her and encircling her with his arms. She tensed for a moment before slowly, tentatively placing a hand on his head and ruffling his shaggy hair. She knelt down and put her hands on his shoulders before embracing him.

"Ven!" He laughed against her shoulder, inhaling her scent. The copper tang of blood, the sharp ozone lightning smell of magic, oil and leather and metal, and something deeper that smelled like brimstone, like life, like the winter forest.

_Home_.

"Harry, you're alive," she breathed, her wide smile stretching across her face, "Here! How?" She ruffled his hair again.

"It's a long story," he muttered into her hair.

She laughed. "We've got time."

They moved to the kitchen area and sat down. Ven leaned forward, putting her fingertips together. "So, Harry, what happened?"

"What didn't happen?" He released a breath. "You were gone for a long time," he accused.

"Longer than I feared," Ven said. She looked away. "And it isn't good news, I'm afraid."

"You couldn't find a way back," Harry said.

"Not as such, no." Ven's eyebrows rose at his calm features. "You took that better than I thought you would."

"I've had time to get used to it." Harry poured them both a tankard of mead, using his hands to warm them, casting just enough of the flame spell where it would heat on contact. "I'm disappointed, but it's not unexpected. We'll find another way."

Ven took a sip before grinning again. "Well, well, well," she said with humour in her voice. "You've learned a few things as well, I see."

Harry's grin grew wider. "Just a little. Just wait. I think you'll be impressed."

"I already am." Her face grew serious. "But there's something different about you. You're not the milk-drinker I left."

His face turned grim as well, and he gazed down at his travel worn boots. "No, I'm not."

"What happened to you?" Ven asked, her eyes gentle, her voice soft, as if she were speaking to a skittish colt. _Not far off,_ Harry supposed.

"Bandits. Dragons. Vampires," his own eyes darted up to lock with hers, "the Thalmor."

Her face turned hard, her gaze like flint. "Explain."

"Bandits on the road. My first kill, actually. A dragon attack in Whiterun," He laughed bitterly. "He was looking for me." Ven said nothing, just watched him with an impassive look, but her knuckles whitened against the hilt of her sword, she was gripping it so tightly. "Then a couple of months after I arrived at Lakeview, we were ambushed. Vampires. They wanted me and Uthgerd, I don't know what for. She was under thrall, and she attacked me. I got away, but…" he trailed off, rubbing at his arm.

Ven reached for it gently, tightening her grip when he tried to pull away. She rolled up his long sleeves and just stared. A spread of vicious purple-white gouges marked his arm. The teeth of an animal. She traced the marks with her fingers. "But you didn't get away whole."

Harry took a deep breath. "There's more. I would have died. Blood loss, shock, but…"

"But what, Harry?" Ven pressed. "What are you so afraid to tell me?" She grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently. "There's nothing you could say that would make me think less of you."

Harry wasn't so sure. He'd read what other people thought of werewolves, what other werewolves had done. He pulled away. Harry slouched his shoulders and crossed his arms over his stomach, tucking his elbows in and looking down. Should he take the chance? "You swear you won't tell?" Harry said, deep emerald eyes looking up at her before moving back down to stare at his feet.

"By my soul and seal," Ven said.

"You're sure?" Harry said. The idea that she could hate him was making him sick, but she had to know what he was, what he could become.

"On my life, Harry. We haven't known each other for very long," Ven's mouth quirked in a crooked line. "But blood or not, you're my son."

_Nothing for it_. "A werewolf saved me," Harry said in one quick release of breath. "I won't tell you how, but that's the only reason I'm alive right now. And I'm one. A werewolf, I mean." Harry said miserably. "I was almost dead. There was no time to heal, and they didn't know any healing spells or have any potions. It was the only option."

Ven closed her eyes. Harry watched her jaw work. She was quiet for a long moment. "All right." She took a deep breath. "All right. You're alive. That's what matters." She rubbed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. "I made a grave mistake. I am sorry, Harry. It seems in trying to protect you. I've done the opposite." She smiled ruefully. She crossed her arms and crossed the room.

"There's more."

"What could possibly be any worse?"

Harry told her about the rest, her face becoming grimmer as he neared the end of his tale. The dragon, the desperate hunt for Uthgerd, the capture by the Thalmor. Harry explained his conversation with Elenwen and the subsequent circumstances of his escape.

She cursed vehemently. "This isn't good. Not good at all." She kicked at the wall, muttering curses. "I'll have to send out a few messages," she said finally. "There's a place we can go to lie low for a while, prepare a counter. They have agents there too, but last time they weren't able to make it as far as the Cistern, Gods be praised." She continued muttering to herself, seemingly not aware of Harry at all.

"What she said," Harry started to ask, interrupting her, and then stopped himself. Nothing for it. He steeled himself. "Was it true? About Martin Septim?" He couldn't read Ven's eyes. They were clouded—shuttered. She was quiet for a long time.

When she spoke again, Harry had to strain to hear her answer. "Yes. Yes, it's true."

Harry sighed in relief. "Then you know what this is?" He walked over to his pack, reaching inside it and pulling out the item wrapped in a swathe of purple silk.

Ven's eyes bulged, and she squeaked, clasping a hand over her mouth at the undignified sound. "Where did you get this?" she breathed.

"Around," Harry hedged. He bit his lip to keep from smiling. He knew it was serious, but her face! He wished he had a camera. "I think it's better if I don't say. Not even here."

Her hands trembled. She removed the cloth and stroked the side. He could tell when she experienced the same thing he did, as she jumped on contact, but she didn't jerk away. She kept her hands on it and her eyes closed.

Harry shifted from foot to foot, looking at the ceiling, trying not to notice the tears flowing down her face. It seemed like an eternity before she opened her vermillion eyes, wiping the tears away. "Do you know what this is?" She parroted back at him.

"I do," Harry said. "It's a cornerstone of my plan."

"Your plan?" Ven asked.

So he told her, expounding upon it, answering her questions well into the night.

She gave her own input, improving it, tightening it up, explaining where he had gone wrong and making it workable. "It is worthy of Boethiah himself. They will not take this easy."

"But will it work?"

"With one small change, yes, I think so. I said I would not have you as a pawn of the Jarls, and I meant it." He started to protest, and she held up a hand. "You are familiar with chess?" Harry nodded. "The King is the most important piece. The Queen may have more power, and more room to move, but without the King, all is lost."

"Why me? Why not you?"

"Harry, we talked about this. I am well aware of what I am. And as cosmopolitan as the Empire claims to be, I am always and ever will remain, bosmeri, with all that it implies. I can hear them now: 'Why worry about the Thalmor when you have one here!' No, a breton is far better for this ploy. One step removed, after all. A human race."

"You think I can do it? You think it can be done?"

"There are other ways to counter the Thalmor's attention. Easier ways, with less risk. Ways that don't paint an enormous bull's-eye on your back. I wield no little power myself, even without taking the Dragonborn aspect into consideration. But for audacity and sheer foolishness, I applaud you."

"Does that mean you think it won't work?"

"On the contrary. It just may. It is bold, and they won't be expecting it" Her smile showed her sharp canines. "The Stormcloaks forget that even elves worship Talos, and the Empire forgets its place and takes away our freedoms. First, it is our gods, then our children as they draft them for their legions. Hundreds die as brother and sister fight one another. The Thalmor burned me out of my home. I intend to do the same to them. Fear is no way to live, don't you agree?"

Harry thought back to Hagrid's tale of Voldemort, and how his parents had to hide. Thought about running from Dudley, and the time he spent in the tree due to Aunt Marge's stupid dog. Thought about the words from Ven's mouth herself. "Yes. I refuse to run and hide."

"You've grown wings, little hawk." She smiled. "I'm so proud of you."

"If both sides are against you, you make your own side," Harry said.

"Yes. And as I have said before, the Dragonborn is a nord legend, and many will follow because of that. But it won't be easy. Nothing worth doing is."

"But it can be done."

"Yes, it can be done. First, we need to reforge a chain for this." She held up the object in purple silk. "It will take a master smith to craft what we need."

"Eorlund Grey-Mane," Harry said immediately.

"But he only works for the Companions," Ven protested.

Harry smiled. "I don't think that will be a problem."


	33. He says the best way out is always through

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Middas, 14th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202**

**Breezehome**

Harry opened the door the next morning to a dunmer with a fist raised to knock. Both had expressions of surprise on their face as they stared at one another for a moment. This one had a fuller beard than Aval, and his face was less pinched than the shopkeeper in Windhelm. In fact, if it weren't for his abnormally high cheekbones, his face would look almost human.

"Ah," he said after a pause. "You must be Harry."

Harry placed his arm on the doorframe. The events of the past few weeks left him cautious towards people he didn't recognise. And this one knew his name. He stared up at him for a moment, not saying anything. "You are?"

The elf held out his hand. "Erandur. Priest of Mara at your service." Harry took it, keeping an eye on him. His name sounded familiar, but Harry couldn't be sure. "Right then," he said since Harry wouldn't move aside to let him in. "Well then, let Ven know she can find me at Dragonsreach."

"All right," Harry said, unmoving.

Erandur smiled. "Paranoid one, aren't you?" Quicker than the eye could see, he shot a lightning bolt towards the door. Harry jumped back, flame spell readied in one hand and oakflesh cast with the other, but Erandur had already lowered his hand and extinguished the spark. "Remember, just because you cannot see the weapon doesn't mean there innit one." He tucked his arms into his robes and winked.

Harry gaped.

"Caution is good, but most of your opponents are more accomplished at spellwork than you are. They'll be bigger, stronger, have deeper reserves. You're gifted, but you're just a lad with a lot of growing left to do." He ruffled his hair. "Don't get too proud. Have you looked into wards?" Harry shook his head. He vaguely remembered a mention of them in class as something they would cover in later years. "You should. Don't underestimate Restoration. I'm sure there's been a few times a healing spell would have come in handy."

Harry shuddered and clutched at his arm.

The dunmer tilted his head to the side. "You have the taste of dark sorcery about you." Erandur held up a glowing palm, a look of concentration on his face. "About you, but not of you. That makes sense. Not my speciality, but I do have some sensitivity to these sorts of things. Ven didn't know. That would be enough to throw off my alchemical calculations. Yes." He hmmed. "Perhaps the Jarl's court mage might have the books I need. Oh, and remind her that we're on a schedule, would you?"

Harry stared stupidly at his retreating form before closing the door. He rubbed at his tingling scar as he contemplated the elf's words. He was still scowling when Ven came down shortly after, armour newly shined. "Who was at the door?"

"Um, Erandur, I think?"

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I told him not to bother," she said, but her smile belied her complaint.

"So I take it he's a friend?"

Ven nodded, shouldering her ruck. "He was the one I mentioned back in Windhelm. He has a unique perspective on the daedra and the different realms. If there's a way home, he'll find it for you."

"He said something about Dragonsreach and a schedule…?" Harry offered.

"Right, right. We'll head that way after we speak to the Companions. Lydia'll meet us there as well. You ready?"

"Yes, just a moment," he attached his skyforge dagger to his belt with one of Ven's custom frogs. An imprint of a thorny rose graced the leather loop. He grabbed his bag and they headed out.

As they walked through Whiterun, Harry noticed for the first time how all the eyes seemed to follow Ven. It sort of reminded him of entering the Leaky Cauldron for the first time. He shifted from foot to foot and tucked his head under at all the staring, but then he straightened his back, holding his head high, consciously imitating Ven. He'd never really noticed before how she interacted with the crowd around her. She projected confidence and authority around her like a cloak. Harry always warred with himself, something between insecurity and inexperience making him hesitant.

But if they were to succeed…He rolled his shoulders back. Now was as good a time as any to shake off the last bits and pieces of his old life. People needed to start taking him seriously, and keeping his head down and not making eye contact was just another way of hiding. The best way out is through.

His movements didn't escape Ven's eyes. "An aura of competence," Ven muttered, smiling down at him. "You'd be surprised how much that works. Clever lad."

Harry beamed as they continued through the bustling village. It was nice walking alongside Ven like an equal.

The good feeling left him though, the closer they came to the mead hall. This was it. The first step. Harry's stomach churned as he knocked on the door to Jorrvaskr. He'd been here once before, but that time seemed surreal, somehow. That, and he'd come in through the back door on the heels of Aela, her strident steps taking up three or four of his. Ven stood beside him, her arms crossed. He took a moment to look over his adopted mother. She stood proud, her lips pursed together in a fine line. She wasn't even fidgeting.

His keen ears heard footsteps inside, but it seemed like it took forever to open the door. A slight imperial woman stood behind it. "Can I help you?" She smelled human. Not one of the Circle, then.

"Weren't you there when I slew the giant attacking the Pelagia farm?" Ven asked, looking at her nails. "The offer to join the Companions still open?"

"I said that wasn't necessary," Harry muttered.

"Shush, part of the plan," Ven said. She winked. "Think I'd just let you go off and do this on your own?"

"You just like to be in the middle of things." Harry said.

Ven shrugged. "Fair point."

The woman at the door glanced back and forth at them as they spoke. "You'll want to speak to Kodlak," the imperial said slowly. "Normally Aela or Vilkas would talk to you, but they're out at the moment. I'm Ria."

"Hi," Harry said. "Harry."

"Ven. Lead the way."

Ria hadn't led them too far inside the hall when she practically ran into a nord wearing heavy steel armour. There was no other word for it: he was big, easily two metres tall. He was the only person he'd ever seen come close to Hagrid's height. He had long black hair and a rugged short beard. He caught her before she fell against him and paid no mind to her blush as he set her upright.

His eyes caught Harry's, and he lifted his nose a bit, his nostrils flaring. He frowned, his eerie ice blue eyes staring at Harry.

"Hey Farkas, they want to join the Companions. I was just taking them to see Kodlak," Ria trailed off as he turned his blank stare towards her.

"I'll do it," the man said. Harry jumped at his voice. He sounded like Stenvar, but he spoke slowly, as if each word took effort to escape his mouth. "But first I want to talk to them." They stood awkwardly in silence for a moment before he added, "By myself." When Ria made no effort to move, he said, "Why don't you go set up a few practice dummies for lessons later?"

"Fine," Ria said, and she left.

He crouched down to Harry's level, making eye contact again, completely ignoring Ven. "Aela, huh? I'm Farkas. Well met."

"I'm Harry," He said, glancing over to Ven to see how she reacted. "Yeah. Aela."

Ven's eyes lit up. She clearly recognised the name. She chewed on her bottom lip, her hand stroking her chin. "She the one that saved your life?" Ven asked. Harry nodded. He knew she would figure it out if they came here. "Then I owe her a drink." So strange. But he could smell her sincerity.

Farkas stood back up and briefly placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Shield-Brother." He tilted his head, turning his steady gaze to Ven. "I remember you. You fight good."

Ven inclined her head in thanks. Simple acceptance. Somehow, that hadn't been what Harry had expected. She crossed her arms, leaned over towards Farkas. "He is my son." Harry's heart warmed at the comment. "Where he goes, I go." She was dead serious.

Farkas gave her a measured look, almost as if he were staring right through her. After a moment, he said. "We don't get many elves."

"Considering Ysgramor the elf-slayer? He is no matter. I mean it. Where he goes, I go. I don't know what I have to do to get inducted into the Companions, but I will not let him face this alone, no matter what the cost is."

"A fight. But you're not talking about that. You're talking without talking. You're talking about the Circle. You know."

Ven snorted. "I don't think you have ever heard of the term "inconspicuous."

Farkas shrugged. "You're smart, like Vilkas. You already know the meaning of family. You would do it even if it wasn't what you really wanted."

"I know the value of what I have," Ven countered. "And there are some things worth any price."

"Kodlak won't like it," Farkas said. He glanced down at Harry's belt where Aela's dagger hung clear as day. "Kodlak won't like that at all."

"I won't say anything. It's not Harry's fault," Ven began.

"I can speak for myself, thanks," Harry said, interrupting.

Ven sighed heavily, threw her hands in the air, and sat down at the nearby table, kicking her feet up on the wood, grabbing a tankard as she went.

Harry shifted his weight to his right foot. "Aela said she'd take responsibility for whatever happened. I think she thought we'd be coming here together, but it didn't work out that way. Listen, we can talk about this later. I wouldn't be here if I didn't need your help. Right now, we need to speak to Eorlund. He's said to be the best smith in Skyrim."

"He is," Farkas said.

"We need a chain forged," said Harry. "One that can bear the weight of a heavy amulet."

"That's a small thing. Other blacksmiths can do it."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But they won't keep it secret. Also, there's only one place that is said to have the heat of the sun and is said to be fuelled by the spirits of heroes. A forge in the very heart of Magnus."

Ven flinched hard. She fell to the ground it a clatter of arms and armour. Her dark brown skin paled. She looked as the ghosts did. Harry shot her a bewildered look. Farkas too, gazed over at her with an eyebrow raised.

"The Skyforge, then," Farkas said.

"The Skyforge," Harry agreed.

"Alright," Farkas said.

"That easy?" Harry asked, confusion clear on his face.

Farkas walked to a desk in the corner, grabbed a sheet of paper, dipped his quill in the inkpot, and began writing a note in large, blocky letters. He handed it to Harry. "I'll go talk to the Harbinger while you take care of this. You two will be different."

"Wait!" Harry pulled at his tunic. "Aela's not going to get into trouble, is she?"

Harry saw the first hint of a smile on the tall man's face. "No more than she does already. Still, it might be a good idea to come back when she's with you." He waved goodbye as they walked out the door. "We'll be here."

They walked to the top of the hill in silence. Ven hadn't spoken since Harry interrupted her. He really hadn't meant to make it forceful, much less _that_ forceful. Normally by this time, Aunt Petunia would have already started railing at him. He really hadn't meant to disrespect her. Was she thinking about getting rid of him now? Petunia had threatened to, once or twice, before he'd learned to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

He wanted to ask her, but all too quickly remembered the first rule of the Dursleys: _Don't ask questions._

He'd never seen Ven so quiet. And it was relatively warm for the Skyrim spring, but she was shaking like a leaf in the breeze. Her unease was making his grow. She'd lost the confident aura she'd projected earlier. She actually trailed behind Harry, letting him lead.

With the note, Eorlund was only too happy to take the commission. Well, that, and a little coin. Ven mechanically dug in her pouch to retrieve the septims, still deep in thought.

Eorlund frowned a little at the specific instructions. "This'll be a bit of a challenge! I don't know what you're using this for, but it's not my place to ask questions. If you'll let me see the setting—"

"Will just a visual do?" Harry said.

"Aye. It's a bit unusual, but I can make do."

With Eorlund's agreement, Harry reached into the bag and ever so carefully edged the tip out from the purple silk. Eorlund eyeballed it for a moment, and then nodded.

"How soon do you think you can have it done?" Harry asked.

"The gold alloy's easy enough, but it's a delicate casting, deceptively fragile-looking but strong, and none of Fralia's moulds will fit exactly what you're looking for. I'll have to make a new one. Perhaps a week for the level of detail you're after. This is on top of my regular Companion work."

"Fair enough. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, boy."

_That went well enough_ , Harry thought. He glanced over at Ven. She was still lost in thought. She seemed to perk up though, the closer they got to Dragonsreach. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. "Ven, you all right?"

She startled, yet another unusual reaction. "I'm fine, Harry."

Harry had long since learned fine didn't always mean so. He asked softly, "You're not mad at me?"

She furrowed her brows and stared hard at him. "For what?"

"For interrupting you?" Harry hated how needy his voice sounded.

"Gods, no! Why ever would you think that?" Harry didn't answer, just scuffed his boots on the ground. "No, Harry, it has nothing to do with you. Just something I remembered. C'mon! Beat you to the door!" She flashed her sharp canines, smirking at him, her braggadocio back.

Harry had to run to keep up with her, but he was smiling as they burst through the door with him the winner of their impromptu race. He had to grab hold of a table to keep from running into a sour faced little boy. "Sorry!" he said.

The boy scoffed. "Whatever."

"Hey, it was an accident, yeah?" Harry held his hands up in appeasement.

"Yeah, an accident you were born," the boy said, loud enough for the whole hall to hear.

"Nelkir!" a voice shouted from the dais. "That's unworthy of you. If you can't be nice to the guests, you can leave the room!" It came from a man in distinguished clothing, a heavy blond beard and a circlet on his head, dressed in typical Nordic fashion. Harry guessed it was the Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf or some such.

"Whatever you say, _Father_ ," Nelkir sneered.

Harry walked farther into the room as Nelkir was leaving. The boy stuck out his foot to trip him as he walked by. Harry was able to catch his footing before he made himself look like a complete prat. "Git," he muttered. _And I thought Dudley and Malfoy were bad!_ Harry thought.

Ven had moved to the dais during the commotion, conversing with a female dunmer and the one he'd met earlier, Erandur. Lydia too was there talking, gesturing wildly with her hands. He could listen in with his hearing if he wanted to, but he was too busy looking at the hall.

It was nothing compared to Hogwarts, but it was grand in the Skyrim way; the one he was beginning to prefer, with warm tones, furs, and trophies that showed the clear prosperity of the hold. They moved towards an offset room behind the dais, and Harry idly followed, running his hands along the intricately carved bookshelf.

" _Harry_!" a singsong voice called through the dark hallway. _"Harrr~rrry~~! Come here, my darling."_ He looked at the others. It didn't appear the others had heard. He looked up; Nelkir stared down at him, an odd expression on his face. Perhaps he heard it, too? Maybe his wolf-like hearing?

He felt exhausted all of the sudden, his mind a thick fog. It would be so easy to follow the voice.

" _Harry, my child, I'm waiting~~"_


	34. What the Thunder Said

" _Harry_ , _wake up!_ "

_Harry! Harry! Wake up, Harry!"_

"— _C'mon_ Harry, love. It's time for breakfast." Harry opened his eyes at a shake of his shoulder to a redhead smiling down at him, fine crow's feet in the corner of her fine emerald eyes. He stared up blankly, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes to clear away some of the sleep and confusion. _Mum_! Harry thought, and shot straight up out of bed, only to roll over and fall off the settee. Old fashioned it was, with bevelled, gilded edges and dark crimson upholstery. It wouldn't have looked out of place in his aunt's sitting room, come to think of it. He rubbed at his forehead as he felt a sharp tug from somewhere behind his heart.

Harry padded with bare feet across the warm hardwood floor, walking to the kitchen as if by rote. He glanced over at the cupboard under the stairs, eyeing it for a long moment, wondering why it was familiar, before continuing into the next room.

He heard humming and involuntarily smiled at the woman who was busy with the oven. "Get your father, would you, dear?" She placed the scones on the cooker and arranged the food on the plates Harry provided. She wiped the sweat from her brow and fussed about. Harry attempted to help her with the rest of it, but she wouldn't have any of it, waving him off.

Sheepishly, Harry sat down. He couldn't help but notice the table was only set for two. Still, he wandered about the house, calling out for him. He looked out the front window and saw a dark haired figure zoom by on a broomstick. The tugging sensation grew stronger, almost to the point of pain

He already had a hand on the latch before a creaking noise from the hall caught his attention. He moved to investigate, and the door to the cupboard swung open. He opened it, and instead of the small space he expected, it blossomed into a full kitchen, the exact replica of the one he'd just left.

As he stepped inside, the world lost its colour. It bled out, fading like an old photograph over time.

"Hello, my little grand sun. You shine out like a beacon over all of Tamriel," A red-haired woman said. She had a human-looking face and dark skin, but her hair covered her ears, so he was unable to tell if she was human or elf. Her delicate features made that impossible. He thought he recognized her elaborate purple dress, embroidered with heavy gold thread, but he couldn't recall from where. "Very difficult to get a hold of, especially if you're in a bit of a rush." She shook her head.

She sat at a round table that stood empty of everything, save a deck of large cards, a pot of tea, and two teacups. Gold rimmed the saucer and cup. Expensive bone china; Harry knew the brand. Dudley had broken one once and blamed it on him. He didn't leave his cupboard for weeks. _But he lived with his parents, right?_ They'd visited his mum's sister exactly once, and Dudley had given him a black eye while his father and Uncle Vernon had wound up in a shouting match that woke the neighbours and left his aunt with a severely pinched look on her horsey face.

"What?"

"You've got all of Aetherius and Oblivion in a frenzy, you do. Come sit down." When Harry made no effort to do so, she asked again. "I'm not asking for much, my dear child. Just be kind enough to sit for a reading, would you? I don't bite. We've little enough time as it is." She tilted her head, glancing past him to the open door. "Mephala is rather insistent, I'm afraid. She does love her secrets."

"Fortune-telling?" Harry said doubtfully. "What is this?"

"So young, to be so cynical." The woman shook her head. "No, not fortune-telling or divination, precisely. More of an answer to a question."

"A question? I don't have any questions." He scoffed.

"Your heart tells a different story." His heart tugged again, fainter, but still insistent. She crossed her hands, rings clacking together, and leaned forward over the table. "It calls loud enough to wake the dead. Now cut the deck. And for the love of Akatosh, sit down. Spare your knobbly knees a bit of pain, yeah?"

Harry did as she bid, nearly upsetting the steaming tea on the table as he sat down heavily. He pouted, crossing his arms and glaring across the table at her. She gestured palm out towards the cards, enigmatic smile in place. She pushed them towards him with her other hand.

Harry glanced down at the back of the deck. A white diagonal line divided the cards into two. On the right, a pale face in profile, with red eyes on a grey background facing down. The left, a crowned figure looking up, swirls of rainbow gradient emanating from them. He separated it in half.

She picked them up and shuffled them, placing them in the centre of the table.

"Draw the first card."

He did. The sun dominated the sky over a tiny mountain range and a valley, a dragon the smallest blemish in front of the sun. The sun wore a beatific smile. XIX was in the top right corner.

"Hmm, the Sun. Can't say I'm surprised you pulled this from the deck. I knew it from the moment I met you." She placed it face up on the table on her top left. "This signifies you. It represents freedom, you know. Life. Hope. The sun's what gives us life, and you've saved so very many people. You have strong ties to life and to those around you. Quite the trump card, you know. Very positive. Reversed though. These ties didn't come easily. You've had to fight."

Harry rubbed his scar at her words, but remained silent as she placed the rest of the cards herself. One card placed vertically in the centre of the table, another placed horizontally on top, and surrounded in the four cardinal direction by four more cards, starting with the east and continuing clockwise from her perspective. Four more cards in a straight line, placed from closest to her to closest to him on her right, his left.

She flipped the centremost card. Three swords impaling a dark haired figure in white. She hmmed. "Three of Swords in reverse. You always do things the difficult way, don't you? This represents your present, and it is filled with disappointment. Something hasn't gone your way at all, poor thing. A low suit, too; this disappointment is relatively new for you."

The horizontal card. She flipped it, and another card slipped out. She ignored it for now, so Harry did too. XV was written in the top right corner. A shadowed creature with red eyes and bat wings and fangs. It had pointed ears, sharp-clawed tentacles for hands, and goat feet and horns, and a third eye with a cleaved pupil. It perched on a mountain, dark solid bindings grasping several nude figures that clasped their bloody hands to their faces in a silent scream. Their bodies were bisected, and appeared to be half-insect, by his reckoning. "The Devil. This is what you're currently facing. A selfish card, by any means, but not necessarily bad. Knowledge is neither good or bad, after all. It's what you do with it."

She pulled out the card she ignored earlier and placed it next to the Devil. It had a necklace with a large blue stone in the centre, and five golden coins to either side. "The ten of coins, a good omen of money and happiness on its own, but hidden behind the Devil…You have a multitude of enemies, and they're not always ones you can see. They have money, power, strength."

The card on her right next to the horizontal. "The Hanged Man. A crossroads, of sorts," she murmured. "Two ways open to you. Curious, very curious that he should show up here, in your distant past. The middle of the Major Arcana, you see." She pointed to the XII written in the top right corner

Despite himself, Harry felt anxiety crawl around his stomach. Nothing good ever came of someone using those words. "Curious how?"

She waved her hand around to indicate what he'd come to realize was Aunt Petunia's kitchen. He didn't quite recall why he thought it was his mum's. "We're in your mind, you know. Your mother liked the classics. Used to read them to you, when you were a wee little one." Her wistful expression curled the corners of her mouth as she quoted: "' _I do not find the hanged man. / Fear death by water. / I see crowds of people, walking in a ring…_ ' So very curious. You know, the Hanged Man is also known in the older tarot as the Traitor?"

A shiver crawled its way up Harry's spine. "A Traitor?" He leaned towards the cards. A dark haired man hanged upside down from a tree by his left foot, his right crossed behind it, serene smile on his face. His hands were unbound, crossed and spread in a wing-like fashion. He had a golden halo around his head, the kind Harry had seen in old renaissance paintings.

"Well, surely he must have done something to end up like this, right?"

"What are those flowers and leaves curled around the tree?"

"Ah, yes. Lily and Myrtle. Myrtle for love, a lily for true friendship and devotion. And the tree is yew. Transcendence, death." Her smile grew wider. "They say they crucified Saint Peter upside down."

Harry asked, "How do you know about him?" He leaned closer to the cards. A rat with an extra-long tail sat curled against the Hanged Man's foot. The centre of the tree had an eye peeking out, and a spider web in the crook of the bough.

"Because you do, child."

"He is a choice. This is the foundation of your question, and one of the most difficult cards to interpret in the whole of things." She frowned, fine lines appearing on her forehead and around her mouth. "Even at its best, it is a card of contradictions, of suspension, of purgatory. A choice _will_ have to be made. You can't sit on the side anymore."

"The next card might clarify." She flipped it over. "Your recent past: The Eight of Cups. A search for meaning, a journey to find self. A high suit. You haven't felt right in your own skin for a very long time, and are only just now approaching balance. Perhaps this is it. To continue the lie, or to deal with the truth."

Harry shivered at just how right she was. Though he still thought it was a load of nonsense. Then again, he wouldn't have thought magic was real either, before.

She flipped the next card. It landed skewed, face up. XVIII. A full moon shone over the water. What Harry knew to be two werewolves, howling up at the sky. A castle sat in the background, while blood poured from the fountain in the distant background. "A possible outcome. Interesting. Or perhaps your perception of yourself. Neither upright nor in reverse. Curious." She smiled, her eyes a trifle too open.

Harry looked uneasily at the card. "What's this, then?"

"The Moon. Illusions and lies, my dear. This speaks of hidden enemies. Of secrets kept and squirreled away where no one can find them. Of wild want. Visions and creative genius, and of course, of madness," Harry heard the capital as she giggled girlishly. "My destiny, not yours. Perhaps I'm bleeding through into this reading after all." She looked at him again with vacant eyes before shaking her head and coming to herself again. "Things are never what they seem."

He'd heard Voldemort was mad, very mad. _But he wasn't who I have to deal with anymore here, right?_ "Bleeding through?" Harry asked, bewildered. He had no idea who she was, except for a nagging sense of familiarity. She wasn't his mum, that's for sure, nor was she Ven, and by the way she swore, of Tamrielic descent rather than British, for all she knew a saint.

"Oh, never you mind, pet. I certainly don't. More tea?" Harry hadn't realized it, but he'd been sipping at the tea absentmindedly. Each sip had made the tugging at his heart lessen. Lessen, but it was still there. He rubbed at it through his clothes.

"Yes, ma'am." He muttered.

"Ah, the near future. Now, we're getting somewhere. Oh look, the Five of Wands!" A blonde girl, a male redhead, two dark haired males and one brunette crept their way through a dark forest as the moon shone overhead. The wands in their hands looked more like staffs or staves rather than traditional length wands. "Competition is in your future, my boy! Rebellion, the breaking of rules, losing the constraints of the lower suits…Ambition and rivalry. Exciting! Whether or not you'll win the challenge, who can say?"

They left the completed circle and moved to the cards in the line on the side. She flipped over the next one. It was upside down. A dark haired man in robes with a pointed hat held a sword in one hand and a staff in the other. A goblet burned blue with blue fire in front of him on a grand table, while coins littered the floor. A sideways eight (∞) hung from his neck "What you do to influence the situation: ah, the Magician! The power of the infinite mind, Hahrii. The one whose will makes it so, whose very speech wills essence into being. He represents potential, even in reverse. You doubt Harry; yourself _and_ others, and that doesn't do anyone any favours. Upright, this is a card of confidence. So many other people will try to hold you back, but none does a better job than you do. You don't have to help them."

She flipped the second card above the Magician. A woman sat askew in a throne, legs propped up over the arms. Her head rested on the other arm. She had one hand thrown back behind the seat while the other dangled past the seat, one palm resting on the hilt of a longsword that lay on a marbled floor. A coronet adorned her head. "Your external influences: The Queen of Swords. A clever woman, by any accounts, and a master of strategy. A general in her own right. Perhaps too clever. She will help to answer the question that you seek."

"I still don't know what the hell that question is supposed to be," Harry said, crossing his arms. "Besides, anyone with eyes knows that. That's my mum."

She bared her teeth. "Maybe. You've known more than one clever, powerful woman in your life, I'm sure."

He closed his eyes. _Hermione._ The fact he hadn't thought of her in such a long time made his heart clench. He thought about McGonagall too, oddly. Her stern demeanour gave her certain strength. And that was just at Hogwarts. Here there was Aela, Uthgerd…not only Ven.

After giving him a moment to think it through, she flipped the next card. "These are your hopes and fears. The Five of Swords in reverse." A pile of blood-soaked bodies piled high in a field, surrounded by crows. Five swords stood tall against the grey sky, sticking out of the backs of the dead bodies. "Failure. You fear the answer to your question will be no, that you weren't made for this. You fear your enemies will find you, you and the ones you love. Your father and mother have already died for you. Stenvar too, or so they say."

Harry jerked up, knocking the rest of his tea onto the table. The liquid avoided the cards as if they were shielded, going against gravity to fall to the floor. She waved the liquid away carelessly.

"Is Uthgerd dead? You don't know. You saw Rayya bleeding out. And what of Aela, who abandoned you to your fate, yet still may have been killed by the Thalmor? How many more will die while you still live?"

"Don't," Harry pleaded quietly, tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't look away from her dark eyes, but he did grasp the tablecloth in white bloodless fists.

She looked down at his fists and grinned, a sardonic thing. "Do you know how many corpses it takes to make an empire? What can you, Harry J. Potter, of Little Whinging, Surrey, do except die in the face of that much struggle?

"I SAID DON'T!" He hit his fist on the table, rattling the dishes, while his magic knocked all the various trinkets off the walls and exploded the glass.

She scoffed. "A prideful child, throwing a temper tantrum. This is about more than being sure of your course. You know the question, my dear boy. Don't you want to know the outcome?"

She flipped over the last card, ignoring Harry's harsh breaths and trembling body. She flipped over the last card. Harry saw a cloaked, dark-haired, emerald eyed, pale-skinned figure holding a scythe with his right hand. XIII was written in the top left corner. On the palm of his upheld left hand, a line bisected a circle inside a triangle. "Ah, the final card. Cliché, but dramatic ever so."

"What is it?" Harry asked, hating that his voice was still shaky. He asked again, "What is it?" Steadier, that time.

"Death, love. But it doesn't mean death, necessarily, though that very well may be a part of it. It is the end of one journey and the start of another. It is a card of transformation, and of change. There is no going back, my dear. It will change you irrevocably. It already has. The little Gryffindor first year wouldn't recognize you now," she said.

_No, he wouldn't_ , Harry thought, and what did it mean that he was thinking of himself in the third person?

"My dear, the reading is simply the journey. It's up to you what to do with it. Here, love." She handed him the deck of tarot cards. He put them in his pocket. "Someone always gives you your first deck. The readings'll always be off otherwise." She winked at him. "Don't lose them. And if you do make it back, know that there is truth in Divination."

"Really? I thought you said this was more an answer to a question," Harry said, standing up and sliding back the chair.

She laughed. "Really." And while I would hesitate to place my trust in Arctus—or was it Arcturus, I can never remember—remember he said, 'Each event is preceded by Prophecy.' Might be something you look at, when you get back. If you get back. Or is it, 'Without the hero, there is no Event.' No!" She shook her head. "'Without the Event, there is no Hero.' NO! That's not right, either." She paused in her mutterings to look back over her shoulder. "Thanks for having tea with me. Ta ta!"

And the room swirled, filling in with colour again, and Harry found himself on the floor of his cupboard. The tugging behind his heart returned, intense, incessant.

He stood, his face a determined mask. He left the cupboard, shutting the door behind him and walked towards the kitchen. He sat down at the table, looking up at his mum's expectant face, and he clasped his hands together.

"You're not my mother," he said without preamble.

The thing wearing Lily Potter's face gasped and held its hand to its heart. "Harry, how can you say such things!"

Harry looked at his hands, cleaning the dirt out of his nails with his thumbnail. "It remains to be seen what you actually are, but Lily Potter is dead, and this is my aunt's kitchen. You didn't try very hard, did you?" He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Mephala."

Lily shrugged. "I can't say I did, no. But here you sit, in the middle of my trap."

"Your web, you mean." He ran his hand along his wrist and felt for the thin spider thread, invisible to the eye. He plucked it out. It stung, a little. "And I know this isn't the only one."

Her gaze sharpened as she met his eyes. "Perhaps you are more clever than I gave you credit for."

"I'm young, not stupid," Harry said. "Stupid enough, though, not to listen to the warnings."

Her smile was one of perfected disinterest. "Oh?"

"That's all you're getting from me."

"So what is stopping me from getting what I want, now?" Lily asked.

"Is it what you want, though?" Harry asked. "Or is it what someone else wants?"

"It's what I want, of course." She grabbed a knife and twirled it around her fingers. "As if it could be anything else."

Harry spoke quickly. "I know who you are, and I can offer you secrets. Secrets even the Lord of Knowledge doesn't know."

"If you know who I am, you also know we are allies," Lily said, wary now.

"Traditionally yes, but not always. And it's about more than that, isn't it? You don't know where I come from, do you?" Harry saw her emerald eyes light up. "Beyond Aurbis. You may have threads in every spoke of the wheel here, but something removed from it entirely?"

"I'm listening," she said, leaning back against the counter.

"You let me go. I dedicate every murder to you. Every test, every feat of strength, every bit of arcane knowledge."

She scoffed. "I already have a whole nation to do that for me."

"A whole nation, but perhaps not a whole continent," Harry said. "And I feed you secrets you can use to further your own ends."

"No." She raised her hand to strike.

Harry bit his lip, clutching at his stomach. "A foothold then, on Earth. The whole thing would be your playground."

She paused, lowering her knife. "Now you're talking."

Harry held up his hands. "A foothold only. Think of all the secrets for your taking. Or you could kill me now, for whatever nefarious purpose."

"What's the catch?"

"I just let you in. You have to do the rest. But you're an immortal daedra. You have all the time in the world."

"This sounds almost too good to be true."

"I don't know where I fit into your plans, but there's that old saying about tapestries. All it takes is one loose thread for the whole thing to unravel. I can be that loose thread, or I can be the one that binds. It's up to you."

"Very well, I'll let you go."

"This is more than just a one-time thing," Harry said. "Hands off. For eternity."

"Off you? Certainly. I knew there was a catch. But what you're offering is delicious enough even with just what I've seen in your mind. But I only speak for myself. Just so you're aware." She held out her hand.

"And your agents," Harry pressed.

She looked at him for a long time. "Oh, fine. And _my_ agents," she said, stressing the possessive. They shook on it, and a bright light flashed, a white cord binding them together. Harry felt the pulling immediately cease. Lily smiled widely. "Pleasure doing business with you."

And the world faded around him. He leaned his forehead against the dirty door in Dragonsreach, sweat pouring down his face, breath heavy. He clutched at his heart, and felt a square in his front pocket. He was sure his clothing didn't have one before. He pulled it out. The tarot cards, in a case that matched their backing.

He heard a noise and jerked his head to the left. Eyes glittered in the dim light. Nelkir.

"You heard the voice too," the boy said.

"Yeah," Harry said, gasping.

"It told me my brother and sister aren't mine," the voice was soft, hesitant. A far cry from earlier.

Harry pulled his head up, looked at his features. "That's no good." He sat down, resting his head against the door and pulling his knees up to his chest.

Nelkir sat down beside him and mirrored him. "What did it tell you?"

"That I have to succeed at all costs, or die trying."


	35. My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

**Whiterun Hold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Loredas, 2** **nd** **of Second Seed, 4E 202**

**Road to High Hrothgar**

Three weeks had passed in wave after wave of couriers and missives. Harry didn't think a day had gone by without a messenger or a hawk, but they had finally reached a point where the Jarl was ready to leave.

Now he sat with a few members of the Jarl's retinue. Harry shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. One of the guardsmen had been an adventurer in his youth, until an unfortunate injury had put a stop to it, as he told it. Seemed he'd been a corsair, traveling all of the Gold Coast and the Abecean Sea, terrorizing as far north as the Iliac Bay and Solestheim. Harry had his doubts, wandering how someone like that became a part of the Whiterun guard, but he didn't voice it. The guard certainly knew a few eyebrow raising sea-shanties. The men around the campfire fell over each other, laughing at his singing.

" _Oh, the Countess Bree had a shady past,_

_Yet many suitors for her hand did aim,_

_But the Captain knew the bosun's mast_

_Was the one on which she ca—"_

The singing man yelped as his boot touched the fire. One of his fellows had shoved him, but that only made the other guards' laughter more raucous.

Rolling his eyes, he glanced over at the grand tent occupying the hill. Ven and Balgruuf were having another argument. His sensitive ears heard it even over the noise of the rest of the Jarl's retinue. Irileth, the dark elf and Jarl's housecarl, stood at the flap of the tent, her arms crossed and her eyes ever watchful.

He hadn't seen much of Ven these past few weeks. They had precious little time to get the Jarl to see reason. Ven may have been a Thane of his, but it took every inch of the skill she had at diplomacy. In between, Harry and she had trained. Swords and Shouts, mostly. He'd learned two more Shouts, all she had had time to teach him.

Ven had stepped it up, making the time she'd cut his neck seem like child's play, much to the clucking disapproval of the priestess of Kyne that travelled with them. Even Rayya's enthusiasm paled in comparison. Still, Harry felt himself improve on an unparalleled curve. Harry's physical strength still surprised Ven sometimes, but she attributed it to the werewolf. Not having any other explanation, Harry did the same.

When Ven wasn't kicking his tail, sometimes literally as she wanted them both to be familiar with his werewolf form, Erandur did the same, forcing him to dual cast his now adept level destruction spells, which drained him quickly until they didn't. He'd taught him a basic ward and healing spell, though Erandur wasn't much of a teacher, and they mercilessly worked on that too, often times leaving Harry to heal his own scrapes and burns that made it through his wards. Still, he'd grown to like the elf, first impressions aside.

They'd let him rest tonight, though. He needed it for tomorrow.

The lights of Ivarstead shone in the distance, but the oppressive shadow of the Throat of the World covered everything around them, including where they camped.

Harry shuddered; it wasn't entirely due to the cold air.

They climbed the mountain the next morning. Much of the retinue stayed behind in Ivarstead or at the campground. The Vilemyr Inn was already full up to his understanding. Ven's work. Harry smiled at that.

Irileth, the Jarl, Ven, Lydia, Erandur, and Harry were the ones making the final ascent. Outfitted for the weather and far fitter than he'd ever been before, Harry enjoyed the hike up the mountain, a far cry from his exhausted, blistered, and frost-bitten self of several months ago. He reached the top with a grin on his face, trembling with energy. It didn't take long for people to change.

The baleful glance of Arngeir at his party dimmed Harry's excitement a little bit. The old man had saved him, and he considered him a dear friend. The Greybeard gave the barest of nods to Ven and the Jarl before gesturing them all inside. Harry though, he pulled aside. "Harry, are you well? I must confess, I didn't expect you to be here. Surely you'd have made it home?"

"Well enough. There've been a few things," Harry said with a wry smile, "There always are. But I'm fine. A little sad, nothing we've used for me to go home has worked, but Skyrim's not so bad. Besides, I've got things to keep me here now. People. It's fine." Harry waved Arngeir away.

Arngeir frowned, his mouth a sharp slash in the torchlight of High Hrothgar, looking at Harry's armoured self with new eyes. The boy had changed. The form that stood before him looked nothing like the little boy he'd found months ago. He was several centimetres taller for one, with bronzed skin and a long scar peeking out from his armour on his neck. He noted his small, proud stature: his posture perfect, his bearing almost regal, his longish hair tied back like a noble's. It was the eyes though, lacking spectacles, which had changed the most. They were far from the wide-eyed innocence Arngeir remembered blinking up at him in the snow. Now they looked wild and as cold as the Skyrim highlands, as hardy as the evergreens. "What has she done to you, lad?"

Harry crossed his arms, those green eyes meeting Arngeir's gaze. "Nothing I didn't want."

"There are only so many reasons for your presence. Most of them political."

"And that's a problem?" Harry lengthened the word "that," scepticism exuding from his tone.

"The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs. That we are now bears ill-tidings."

"The Greybeards don't get involved in politics," Harry said quietly. "But neither she nor I are Greybeards. In a time of political upheaval, the Dragonborn must, Way or no Way. What defines 'True Need?' Would you have the world tear itself apart to keep to untenable ideals?"

"But the Way is not for conquest!" Arngeir said.

"Indeed, it is not. It's a good thing I'm not using it so, then." Harry countered.

"There are only so many reasons for you to gather the Jarls. What exactly is Ven planning? A Moot? This is not the ideal place for a challenge."

"Should the Jarls also not have a say in how their country is run?" Harry asked. "We are here to negotiate a truce, Master. Nothing more, nothing less. Should the scope of the truce be far different than what many expect, they will learn, in time. And if the subject of a High King were to come up then, well, Skyrim has been leaderless for far too long. This is our best chance to resolve the mess without bloodshed. Surely the Way finds that acceptable?" He said, raising his eyebrows.

Arngeir looked at him in confusion for a few moments before understanding dawned in his eyes. "'I' you said. Not Ven."

Harry smiled. "I knew you'd catch that. ' _Dragonborn,_ _Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn, / To keep evil forever at bay!_ ' I'd say brother fighting brother breeds evil enough, wouldn't you? There is no greater sin than kinslaying. And Ven has enough to worry about with Alduin."

"You are not the youngest warrior I've seen, but everyone in there is far older than you. They are stronger than you, and have more experience." Arngeir warned. "What you're planning—"

"Quite kind of you to leave out the implied 'smarter,'" Harry said.

"You seem quite an intelligent young lad," Arngeir said. "Most of the time. This is folly."

"No one will hesitate to kill because I am a child. The Thalmor have already proved that. How do you stop an enemy planning an imminent attack?" Harry paused. Arngeir did not respond. "A preemptive strike." The corner of Harry's lip quirked up. "Harry means 'to harass,' you know."

Arngeir sighed, folding his arms in his billowing sleeves. "Perhaps it is too late then, to convince you to stop this madness?"

Harry's smile faltered; his glance somewhat regretful. "Perhaps if I had taken you up on your offer to stay earlier, it would not be. Now the course is set. And I must follow it to the bitter end," he said, thinking of the tarot cards he kept against his heart.

Arngeir inclined his head. "Very well. I have no wish to involve myself further in political matters, and each shall do as he must needs do. High Hrothgar is a place of peace, and it so will remain, no matter how fierce the winds of change blow."

Arngeir was about to continue speaking, but Harry held up his hand until the old man quieted. " _Laas_ ," he Shouted softly. No one within hearing distance, even with supernatural augments. "In any case, as far as everyone is convinced, I'm Tamrielic in origin, born and bred. Please don't say anything, no matter what happens."

_Please_ , he'd said. But there was no mistaking the command in his tone. The old nord worked his jaw. "For your sake, and for the chance of reunification without bloodshed, I will not. That is not our way." He turned to go inside, pausing a moment to gesture at Harry. "Come, Harry. We delay the Council."

He followed Arngeir inside the building, pausing just out of sight in the hall. He had a surprisingly clear view of the table. He lounged there in the shadows. Now was not the time to step in. That would be later. He had no sooner leaned against the wall when two armored figures—a man and a woman— brushed past him, his close proximity to the wall not saving him from nearly being bowled over. He glared at their backs. They had no sooner made it to the Council table when all hell broke loose.

The room exploded into an argument that hurt Harry's sensitive ears. Everyone shouted over one another. It carried on for a minute or so before Harry heard Arngeir's voice, louder than he'd ever heard it before say," That is ENOUGH! FUS RO DAH!" He Shouted at the ceiling, causing the very supports of the building to shake.

He glared at the two newcomers. "You are not welcome here. You were not invited."

"We have every right to be here! Ven, you tell him."

Harry's mother scoffed, crossing her arms. "I quite happen to agree. This is a meeting of the Powers of Skyrim. You are not welcome here. I do not look kindly on those that fail their duties, or attempt to slaughter an ally unprovoked, and not even have the courage to do it yourself!"

"Why you ungrateful—!" She couldn't quite seem to get the epithet out. "If it wasn't for us you wouldn't even be here!"

"Delphine, please." The older gentleman grabbed her arm. She shut her mouth, still red-faced. "Nevertheless, our information about Alduin could prove useful. He threatens us all, and this is no time for disagreements, or old grudges." He gazed out over the table. "Especially before the Jarls and the _esteemed_ General."

Harry laughed to himself. The old man wasn't as calm as he seemed.

Ven cut in, her cool orange eyes meeting the old man's own. "A Blade's memory is long indeed, as you have told me before, Esbern. But a dragon's is even longer. However, you are right. If we cannot set aside our differences as mediators, how can we expect our esteemed guests to? Arngeir, thoughts?"

"Very well. You may enter. But your blades must be tied into their sheaths, your bows unstrung, and your magicka dampened for the duration. This is a place where the very stones are dedicated to peace, and I will not have anyone shed blood in these halls.

Arngeir took a deep breath. "And so it begins. 'Season Unending' is the ancient nord term for war, and so it has proved. You've lain down your arms but for a moment, if only for Alduin's destruction, but the thirst for blood remains. Still, I will do my utmost to attain a moment's peace.

"I assume introductions are not necessary? Since everyone is here, we shall first start by—"

"I WILL not have it!" Ulfric of Eastmarch roared. He hit his fist on the table, causing the young man who was sitting next to him to jump. The young man then glared at Ulfric. "The Thalmor don't belong here!" A woman sitting next to Tullius sighed, and a man in bear fur rolled his eyes.

Harry paled, blood running out of his face as he eased over to view where Ulfric glared. He'd recognize that smirking face anywhere. Apparently, Ulfric had just noticed her as well.

"As part of the Imperial delegation, I have every right to be here." She looked up at Ven, placid smile on her face. "Isn't that right, Venathel?"

"She walks or I do," Ulfric said. The young man next to him nodded, as well as an older balding man on the other side of the table.

General Tullius was quick to interject his own thoughts. "She _is_ a part of my delegation, Ulfric." Strangely, no one else in the Imperial faction said anything else, not even Elisif

Elenwen spoke again. "The Empire must stick to the terms of the White-Gold Concordant. I am here to ensure any agreement reached fits the parameters."

"Kyne's Mercy," Arngeir muttered. "If we have to negotiate the details of the negotiation, we will never get anything done." He too, looked at Ven. "Dragonborn?"

Ven was silent for a moment, before looking at the hall where Harry stood hidden. She seemed to be weighing the benefits, but with a second glance at Harry, she winked surreptitiously at him and made her decision. "She stays."

Ulfric let out another roar and made to get up before the man with the bearskin—Galmar, Harry believed—placed his hand on Ulfric's arm and shook his head. "She can watch, but she is not a member of these negotiations. Clear?"

"Yes," said Tullius.

Elenwen spoke, "It is not the Thalmor that are burning your villages—" Ulfric turned purple in rage. Harry thought it was quite an impressive feat, but Vernon Dursley still did it better.

"No, just slaughtering innocent citizens," a blonde in imperial armour muttered at the same time. Harry doubted anyone but the older woman with black-grey hair heard her. Legate Rikke, Tullius' second-in-command, and Ingrod Ravencrone of Hjaalmarch, he believed. Lydia had gone over the Jarls and their retinues with him during the journey here.

"For the love of Akatosh, shut up!" Ven said, interrupting Elenwen. "You are here to observe. Not to speak. Speak again, say _anything_ , and I will throw you out on your ass. Is that clear?"

The Thalmor woman scowled, but did as she was told. She knew who had the decision-making power right now, and she knew how to bide her time. The dig had been an attempt to rile Ulfric.

Arngeir cleared his throat. "As I was saying, we are here to discuss Whiterun and a cease-fire for all parties for the duration of a dragon capture." The assembled Jarls started whispering with each other. He nodded to Ven.

"We want Markarth," Ulfric said, "That is our condition for a truce."

"I think not!" A man at the far corner of the table interjected. Jarl Igmund of the Reach, then. "You can't just give my Hold away just like that! My father, and my father's father—"

"And we saw how well that worked out, didn't we?" Ulfric said, interrupting him.

"Just because you were part of the Militia against the Forsworn doesn't give you any right to my Hold!"

"You broke your promise to the faithful," Ulfric said, eyes flicking in Elenwen's direction. "If it weren't for me and my men, you wouldn't even have the Reach!"

Elisif of Haafingar scoffed. "You are nothing but self-serving! I can't believe this! You only agreed to this to advance your own position!"

"My Lady Jarl," Tullius said, "We agreed I'd handle this!"

"So she can't even argue her own terms? Figures," muttered a balding older man with rugged features. _Skald of the Pale,_ Harry thought.

Before it could degenerate any further, Ven spoke up. "There is a reason we have brought all nine of you here in a time of crisis. All of you are aware of the Civil War. All of you are aware of Alduin's rampage. If it isn't our soldiers burning the land," She heard sputters, "it is Alduin or some of the dragons he revived. I have a way to stop him permanently, but it would be nice not to have to worry about Skyrim tearing itself apart in a rebellion that doesn't help anyone."

General Tullius frowned. "This sounds less and less like a momentary truce."

Ven inclined her head. "Yes, I am thinking of something more permanent."

"You brought me here under false pretences, _Dovahkiin_. These are not the terms we discussed," followed Ulfric, face impassive, hand on the hilt of his sword hanging from the back of his chair.

Ven bared her teeth. "Did I?" She walked around the wide conference table, every head turned. "It seems strange to me to divide Skyrim in favour of either the Imperials or the Stormcloaks, to pick and choose without the input of the Jarls. Skyrim is their land as well."

"Hear, hear," Laila Law-Giver of the Rift said.

"I must confess, I do agree with Laila," Siddgeir of Falkreath said, "Must we be deposed without our input? Is that what you, Elisif, and Tullius were attempting to do? If it weren't for the Dragonborn, none of us would know about this until it was too late."

Everyone heard Skald of the Pale say, "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, boy?"

Siddgeir sniffed, crossing his arms and turning his nose up, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're implying."

"Imperial dog," Skald muttered.

"Lords and Ladies," Ingrod Ravencrone of Hjaalmarch said, "Need I remind you we are here to discuss a truce?"

"Thank you," Ven inclined her head in Ingrod's direction. "Now is not the time to get distracted. I'm afraid we have little time. Every moment spent here arguing is another moment Alduin has to gain power. To that effect, it seems this cannot be settled without a Moot," Ven mused. The room immediately exploded again into noise.

"QUIET!" Ven shouted, but to no avail. She looked across the room to Arngeir, who nodded.

The Greybeard lifted his head up. "FUS!" He Shouted. The room quietened down, the jarlship looking as one to the old man. "It is certainly true that Skyrim has been without leadership for a long time."

Ven continued, "It is not so uncommon. I know my histories. High King Torygg died without a proper heir." Seeing Elisif of Haafingar about to speak, Ven lifted her hand. "You may be his widow, Elisif, but it remains to be seen whether or not you are fit to be High King. Certainly, without Tullius's troops, it's a wonder if you can even hold Haafingar. The fact of the matter is, we have no actual High King."

Elisif stood up swiftly at her words, her knuckles white on the table. "I beg your pardon!"

"Or must we accept the help of General Tullius in matters that involve Skyrim alone? We may be part of the Empire, but Skyrim has always handled its own matters of sovereignty. And last I checked, it was part of the Imperial agreement that Skyrim be allowed to do so," Ven said.

Another voice spoke up then. "Is it not true that whoever is the High King also holds Solitude?" said Igmund of the Reach.

"Not necessarily," Balgruuf said. "I must admit, this seems a strange time to embark upon a truce, and an even stranger time to insult one of my fellow Jarls, Dragonborn."

Ven held up her hand. "Jarl Elisif, I mean you no disrespect. It is a statement of facts, nothing more. Because of my travels, I am intimately aware of troop movement in that part of Skyrim."

"And you're willing to discuss it in front of Ulfric Stormcloak himself?" Korir of Winterhold said.

Ven waved him off. "It's nothing he doesn't already know. Both sides have their spies, after all." Ulfric did look quite interested, though.

"So who is to be High King then?" Laila Law-Giver of the Rift asked. "One of us?"

"Now see here!" Skald of the Pale said. "I won't have some Imperial pansy milk-drinker telling me what to do!"

"All of us who side with the Empire are far from milk-drinking babes, Skald." Igmund of the Reach said.

"Would someone stepping into the crown of High King even convince us all of peace?" Balgruff asked. "Ulfric Shouted Torygg down, and he was High King at the time. That's exactly what started this war in the first place. Whether or not Torygg accepted the challenge or not, or whether or not it was a fair challenge doesn't matter. The fact is, not all the holds acknowledge it, and that's what started this blasted war in the first place!"

"It was a legitimate challenge, Balgruuf," Ulfric said. "I should be High King."

"Hear, hear!" Korir of Winterhold said.

Ingrod Ravencrone added, "We are all here in a place of peace with our weapons bound. I, for one, know that my Hold suffers from the Civil War. The dragon attacks are deadly yes, but for my Hold, the Imperial/Stormcloak skirmishes are far more deadly for my people."

"I see this as even more reason we should convene a Moot, to settle succession once and for all. To end this bloodshed, so we can focus on Alduin instead of brother fighting brother," Ven said. "We are all proud sons and daughters of Skyrim. Brothers and sisters in our love for this land. We have representatives from all nine Holds here, including Imperial representatives." She inclined her head at Tullius. "Candidates must be from the Blood, and as per ancient Pact, if they are Jarls of Holds their own hold must abstain from the vote. Nominations?"

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Korir of Winterhold said immediately. "By right of High King Harald Hands-Free!"

"Seconded," Skald of the Pale said.

The room as one seemed to turn to Laila of Riften, who remained suspiciously silent.

Arngeir said, "And will he not be contested?"

"Elisif," Igmund said after a pause. "By right of High King Torygg!"

No one moved to second the nomination. The lady in question had paled. Elisif was a fine shield-maiden and a decent warrior, but her husband had been more skilled than she, Harry recalled from the lectures given to him. _She surely depended on Tullius as much as she had her husband if it came to battle,_ Harry thought.

"As two major holds must abstain, the vote of one major hold is enough to carry the motion. No one has any more candidates?" Arngeir asked. "Or are they not present at this time?"

"I do," Ven said.

"And who are you putting forward in the Moot, Dragonborn?" Arngeir asked.

Harry stepped into the room, sweeping his cloak to the side in a practiced flourish. "Me." His fitted scale armour gleamed, and he placed his hand on his peace-tied dagger. He met everyone's eyes fearlessly—head up and proud. He channelled Ven, and Jarl Balgruuf, and Dumbledore, even Snape's quick, confident steps. No motion wasted as he strode into the room.

"By nord custom, and by the power vested in me as Dragonborn, I nominate Harry Septim Venson, by right of High King Pelagius Septim III!"

Elenwen crackled in a visible output of energy, even with the magicka dampening potion. Her face alternated between colour and pale. Harry shot a cheeky grin in her direction. She mimed a knife slicing across her throat. Harry's grin grew wider, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. _Yes, your death is coming,_ he thought.

"This is an outrage!" Ulfric said. "A child, for position of High King! I will not accept this!"

"The vote must be seconded!" Korir said, just as incensed.

"The Mad King! Surely not!" Igmund said. "I demand proof!"

Balgruuf stared at her, eyes narrowed. The Jarl of Whiterun had a curious expression on his face "A Septim, you say? This is what you meant?"

Ven nodded, a smile of pure satisfaction on her face. She handed both Igmund and Balgruuf copies of a parchment with a certain seal and signature.

"Seconded," Laila said.

"Seconded," Siddgeir said.

"Seconded," Ingrod said.

"Seconded," Balgruuf said.

"With two major holds and two minor holds declared of seven, the motion is carried. As arbiter of this Moot," Arngeir said, "I declare Harry Septim Venson High King of Skyrim. "So carried?"

Seven voices followed, one after another, some more reluctant than others. "So carried."

"Then as first act, I declare this Civil War over. Lords and Ladies, I suggest we remain for a bit longer to hammer out the details of the treaty," Harry said. He looked over at the Blades, who were still dumb with shock. "Despite your rudeness towards my person earlier, you are welcome." He glanced down his nose over at Elenwen. "She, however, is not. I can't expect her not attempt to harm my person again. Erandur, Lydia?" They appeared from their position in the hall. "Please take the rubbish out. Thank you." Both of them clasped their hands over their heart and bowed, moving to grab her from her seat and force her out of doors.

Ulfric seethed, a quiet anger. He stood to his feet and grabbed his sword from the back of his seat. "I will not let this stand. I will not let some Imperial lackey take away my gods or my freedom. I challenge you for position of High King."

"And here before we ever discussed the terms. This hot head of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days," Harry said, a bored note in his voice. _Excellent,_ he thought. _Ulfric did exactly what we thought he would do. Freedom and freedom of faith is a part of it, but some part of him thirsts for power._ No plan survives first contact with the enemy, that is true, but he had to let the Jarls see him Shout. It was vital. "Very well, I accept."

"So witnessed," Ven said.

"So witnessed," Arngeir said. "As this is still a hall of peace, there shall be no blood spilled. Should a drop touch the ground, the one who drew the blood automatically forfeits. The first to three hits wins the challenge. A knockout wins the challenge."

"Shouts are allowed," Ulfric said "I will not let this be a repeat of my last challenge."

"King Harry?" Arngeir asked, a knowing look in his eye.

"Yes," Harry said, "That's fine." _Right into my hands._ The thrill of anticipated battle pounded through his veins.

"The Voice is allowed. The blood rules stand. The match will take place in High Hrothgar Courtyard."

"So acknowledged," Harry said.

"So acknowledged," Ulfric said.

"Then let us begin. Lords and Ladies, if you will follow me, please," Arngeir said, and they followed him outside of High Hrothgar to where the other Greybeards were already setting up a makeshift Arena.


	36. Out of the Smoke into the Smother

Ulfric pulled out his sword and shield, bashing his shield with his sword. "Boy! You should quit now! Your youth will not spare you, though you certainly don't lack for courage." He stalked to the left like a sabre-toothed cat, trying to get behind Harry.

Harry moved to the right, having to move his shorter legs twice as fast to catch up. He was already on the defensive. Not good. "Ulfric, please. It's High King Harry to you." _Bit arrogant, but I must get him angry. "_ King at the very least. I'm afraid I must insist. _"_

Ulfic growled in response. The verbal challenge raised Harry's hackles and lit a fire in his werewolf blood. He growled in response, full-timbre and resounding, unnaturally deep coming from Harry's young chest. Ulfric narrowed his eyes.

Harry was smaller, but with his werewolf blood he was almost as strong as Ulfric, the supernatural disease lending him the power as well as superior smell and hearing.

Harry's blood rose, pounding in his ears. The initiative was his. Harry launched a fireball at his chest, dual casting to increase the power. Ulfric raised his shield, and it bounced harmlessly off. _Enchanted_ , Harry thought. Ulfric's defence against magic. Problematic, but not entirely so.

He spent the next few moments in a flurry of destruction spells, testing the breadth of Ulfric's defences. No good. He couldn't make it through. Harry couldn't pull out his trump card yet, not before Ulfric pulled his. It had to be in a moment of awe, the exact moment where everyone was watching. That was the point of this public spectacle, after all.

Ulfric swung his sword in a wide arc, attempting to break his right arm with the force of the swing. Harry jumped back to avoid the hit, but stumbled in the powdered snow. Ulfric used the distraction follow up with his shield. The razored edge caught the side of Harry's face, shattering his cheekbone and carving the skin wide open. Blood ran down his cheek and over his tunic. Someone in the crowd gasped, but Harry paid them no mind. He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek where he'd bitten it, swallowing the blood. He wasn't sure if blood-soaked spit counted or not, and he didn't want to find out.

They broke apart after the fierce mêlée, both of them panting heavily. With the familiarity of training, he shoved aside the pain. With his left hand, he gathered healing energy, and he ran it across his right cheekbone. Blood smeared the palm of his hand. _Thank Erandur for his insistence on practicing Restoration skills_.

Harry smiled, showing his sharp fangs, his teeth stained crimson.

He glowered up at Ulfric, whose ice grey eyes seemed almost fearful. Indeed, the man had a look of panic on his face, directed at Harry's hand. Harry looked down. Blood had beaded on his fingertip, threatening to drop. _Ah_ , _I see._ Harry grinned, wiggling his fingers. The drop fell in what seemed like slow motion, Ulfric's face a rictus of anger.

Harry, still showing his teeth, reached down with his werewolf speed, grabbed the drop, and froze it before it hit the snow.

"As if I'd let you lose so easily, Ulfric." Harry said. He looked over at Arngeir and raised an eyebrow. "Funny rule that. Makes you dependent almost entirely on your opponent's goodwill."

Arngeir frowned. "A loophole. I should have considered my words more carefully." He sighed. "Nonetheless, the rule stands."

"Hear that, Ulfric?" Harry said. "Now everyone can truly see you are a butcher."

Ulfric's face was as stoic as stone. "Better a butcher than a mageling that cannot fight like a true Nord. Some king," he scoffed. "Doesn't know his steel from his prick."

Harry bristled. "I'll show you armed combat," he growled, pulling out his dagger to a derisive snort from Ulfric.

"Harry," Arngeir said carefully, "Do you want to continue? Though the letter of the challenge was kept, the spirit was not."

"Master Arngeir," said Harry with a shallow nod of his head. "I'm fine. I would like nothing better than to teach this old dog a few new tricks. Manners, for one." He took a deep breath to calm himself, rolled his shoulders, opened his stance. Ulfric was turning his tactics against him. And he couldn't let that stand.

"Very well. Begin again."

And they were on each other hammer-and-tongs. Ulfric had the advantage of range, now that Harry was magickaless to a point. It would be more difficult without his strongest asset, but Harry didn't mind. The more handicaps he used to beat him, the more the man would be humiliated when it was all over.

And Harry was looking for that humiliation. Now it was personal. He couldn't use the dagger to slash, but hopefully he didn't have to. Bee stings. He had speed, and he'd built up some fairly impressive stamina. The dagger was to catch the sword blade—a last resort sort of thing. He kept his arms up, dagger out to block strikes, stayed out of reach in a flurry of fast footwork..

Each time he jumped away, it made Ulfric angrier and more prone to making mistakes. He was stronger in a berserker rage—not a true one like the orcs—but sloppy, which was exactly what Harry was aiming for.

He still managed to catch Harry again with his shield, cracking his collarbone this time with a loud snap. _Idiot!_ Harry said to himself. He fell to the ground in pain, but he had enough awareness to roll out of the way of a kick that would have been strong enough to crack his ribs and finish him, even through his armour. Harry struggled to his knees. He chanced a quick look behind him. Harry was in the path of the open cliffs now, and Ulfric seized the opening.

"FUS RO DAH!" Harry darted out of the way, falling to the snow. Ulfric had finally made the first move, proved he couldn't defeat him without resorting to Shouting. So much for grizzled war veteran. Now was his chance.

"SU!" Harry's quick Shout of elemental fury gave his limbs speed to dart under Ulfric's guard and hit him with a rabbit punch to the throat. Ulfric staggered back, clutching his trachea. He jumped back just as quickly, keeping out of Ulfric's reach, pressing a hand to his collarbone and attempting to heal. The bone fused together with a crunch, and Harry said a few choice words under his breath. The healers would have to rebreak it later.

The talking amongst the spectators had died down. No one spoke. The silence seemed to echo in the courtyard, magnifying the slightest of sounds.

Harry paid it no mind. Ulfric had two hits. He only needed one more. Harry couldn't let that happen. But before he could make his next move, Ulfric broke the silence. "You—" he began.

Harry grinned. "Me," he agreed. "I am the Dragonborn, I am the rightful king of Skyrim, and I will not sit back and let it fall to apostasy and ruin due to a war orchestrated by the enemy." He glanced over at the crowd. "Everyone, take note." That started the whispers up again.

Ulfric was still numb with shock. "How? You are just a boy. It took years for me to—"

"I am Dragonborn," Harry repeated. "As is my half-sister and surrogate mother, Venathel. You would be aware of this if you would have let me finish my speech earlier. The gods are on my side, Ulfric Stormcloak. I do not yet see yours. Do you surrender yet?"

"A true Nord never backs down," Ulfric said, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. "And you'll get yours, boy."

"Very well." Harry said, shaking his head. "It's not so easy when your opponent carries the same weapon as you do, is it?" Harry asked, pity filling his voice.

"I will not be mocked! FUS RO DAH!" Ulfric Shouted again. This time Harry couldn't dodge in time, knocking him off his feet in the snow. His head hit against the stone supports of a set of gates, but he staggered to his feet, fighting his blurry vision to get back to the ring. He hoped to Aetherius that that didn't count as a hit. It shouldn't; only direct hits counted.

It was time to end this. His jaw ached, his shoulder ached, and he was more than a little angry. Harry Shouted "ZU HAAL!" and knocked Ulfric's sword and shield from his hand with the Disarming Shout. He sheathed his dagger in one quick motion and attacked him with what little he knew of hand-to-hand. Luck was on his side, however, as it seemed Ulfric was no great master at unarmed combat either. He had a longer reach than Harry, but in his anger, Ulfric was throwing wild punches, and Harry was quick enough to dodge them. Still, Ulfric was wearing him out. He'd only get one chance for this.

"SU," Harry Shouted again when he caught his breath. Harry's vision shifted to elemental fury's quickened perception. He dashed faster than the eye could see behind Ulfric, jumping on his back, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing his fingertips under the corners of Ulfric's jaw in a blood choke.

The man scratched and scraped at Harry's arms, but he held on for his life, and kept the pressure up on Ulfric's neck. The man grabbed his shoulders and tried to sling him off, but Harry was relentless in his chokehold. The struggle increased the amount of oxygen trying to cycle through Ulfric's brain, and he fell to his knees, his arms losing strength. Harry didn't let go until he felt Ulfric go slack in his grip, and he laid the man on the ground.

Harry ran his hand through his sweat soaked hair, having long since escaped from his tie. "Well?" He said, turning to Arngeir, casting his eyes over the crowd of Jarls and their attendants. They watched him in shock, murmuring rippling through the crowd. It seemed no one had expected him to win. No one but Ven, who was smiling widely, a look of great satisfaction on her face.

The Greybeard walked over to check on Ulfric, holding a hand above his mouth to check for breath, making sure he was still alive and not in violation of the terms. "Winner. King Harry," Arngeir said quietly.

Harry sniffed, wiped some leftover blood from his lips, and spat on the ground. He raised his voice. "Anyone else want to have a go while I'm still fresh?" Silence. "No? Good." Ven handed him a restorative draught, and he downed it in one gulp, taking a deep breath. "Good."

At his feet, Ulfric stirred, clutching his head. He'd have a fierce headache for a while. Harry held out his hand. The Nord looked at it, torn. "I would not have you as my enemy, Ulfric."

"The first thing you'll do is sell us out to the Thalmor," he muttered.

"Did you ever consider, Ulfric, that this was exactly what the Thalmor wanted? The Empire losing provinces left and right? The Civil War at a standstill, constantly losing soldiers to both sides?" Harry glanced over at Ven, who inclined her head and shooed the curious crowd away by beginning a speech. "I also have it on good authority that they were funnelling supplies in order to keep it that way."

"Proof?" Ulfric asked.

"I have certain Aldmeri documents in my possession. They listed you as an asset. That's not a good thing," Harry said. "And one thing I learned early from my previous family was to pick your battles. A crusade won't do anything but wipe you out, guerrilla or not. Much better to step back for a moment, take time to think, set the battlefield to your liking." That was Ron's beginner chess advice.

"Harry?" Ulfric asked, still a bit dazed. "And Talos?"

"High King Harry," Harry corrected. "I have no plans to bow my neck to elven overlords. But first, step back, lick our wounds, gather information, build a unified army. The Civil War may be over, but the Great War isn't. Not until Tamriel is united and free to worship how they will. Remember, the Empire was Skyrim's first."

"You are an ambitious little runt, aren't you?" Ulfric said.

"King Runt, if you must. I do insist on the title. How many of Skyrim's sons and daughters are in the Legions and would jump at the chance to reclaim their home? How many have already done so in the Stormcloaks? Together, we can be so much more."

"So, finally the point emerges," Ulfric said. "You're a long-winded Breton."

"Yes," said Harry. "A partnership. Your army alongside mine." He flicked his eyes over to Ulfric and met them in a challenge. "You as an adviser to the High King."

"And if I refuse?"

"It is not honourable to kill someone right after you've spared them, and your death would make you a martyr. I could deal with that, but personally, I'd rather have your influence within my reach."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?" Ulfric asked.

"You do realize that never works, right?" Harry asked. "I would prefer friends. Our goals are the same. Our methods of achieving them? Rather different."

"But you play the long game, rather than risk it all on a short gambit," Ulfric mused. "But I dislike dishonourable actions."

"Yes," Harry said again. "I play the long game. Like hiding Talos worship for a time. That is nothing, in the long run. There's another word for forthrightness in this context. They call it stupidity." And there goes his Hermione vocabulary for the day. Gods, court language was exhausting!

Ulfric sneered at the roundabout insult. "But you are a boy. You weren't there at the end of the war."

"Man enough to defeat you. And I don't have to be. That would be what you would be for. A chance to influence policy, no?" Harry said. "As opposed to an outcast and a rebel? I will remind you again we have the same goals. I, however, must be a little more— _what was that word Hermione said that me and Ron needed to be?—_ circumspect, due to my position." _Yeah, that was the word. Hermione, you'd be so proud!_

"You have a point," Ulfric said slowly from his position on the ground.

"I serve the people of Skyrim first," Harry said. He held out his hand again. "Now is the time to decide."

Ulfric wavered for a moment, then reached out and grabbed Harry's hand, surprised at his ease of helping him to his feet. "Very well." He looked at him askance. "Dragonborn, huh?"

Harry showed his teeth. "Oh yes. They've yet to see my fangs or feel my breath." He raised his voice as Ven was finishing with her rambling speech. "Lords and ladies, shall we reconvene to High Hrothgar for the treaty?"

A series of murmurs and discordant sounds of assent. Harry strode forward, Ulfric and Ven at his heel. Therefore, it surprised him when Tullius matched him and spoke. "I suppose you're the one I must treat with now," General Tullius said.

"So it seems," Harry said. "But not just me. I prefer to have my fellow Jarls with me, as this does not concern only me. I look forward to a positive relationship with the Empire." Ulfric snorted. Ven kept her face blank.

Tullius chuckled. "You lack confidence, huh? Need some adults looking over your shoulder to make sure Skyrim is getting what it needs? When I was your age—"

Harry growled again, rumbling and deep, interrupting him. "Do not patronise me, Tullius," Harry said sharply. "I am High King by right of Moot and by right of victory. My age means nothing when I have already proven myself. Why? Do you think my youth implies Skyrim will bend to the Empire like a bitch in heat?"

"King Harry, I wasn't implying—"

"Then what were you implying, exactly? You and I both know this is but a pause for the Aldmeri Dominion. The Concordant is worth less than the paper on which they wrote it. It's only a matter of time before they storm the gates. 'Provincial dispute?' Please! I could do far worse for the insult you gave me and you know that. That's why you have fear in your eyes."

The old imperial worked his jaw. Harry kept his face impassive, not letting any of the triumph he felt show on his face. "That being said, I am quite willing to sit and discuss terms with you, even after the insult. Just because Skyrim will not bend does not mean we cannot find a mutually beneficial agreement to both parties."

"All right, King Harry. We'll do things your way."

They sat in the conference room of High Hrothgar, all nine Jarls plus the General, Ven, and High King Harry, debating the terms of the provincial agreement for a long time. It went well into the night, with magelight dissipating and candles burning to stubs. They had a base in the old treaties, but enough had changed that it wasn't a good fit anymore. And of course, now that he had given the Jarls an in, certain of them thought it was to be their right. Skald and Igmund were two of the worst. He had to remind them frequently and in Igmund's case, painfully with a light shock, that he was High King. If this was a taste of what ruling was, it was no small wonder Ven didn't want it. Though she would not have to deal with those that thought his youth was a weakness. He may be young and inexperienced, but he was willing to learn and confident in his ability to handle everything, and ask for help with what he didn't.

As the night wound into early morning, an exhausted Harry called for a recess. He still had to get his collarbone checked by a proper healer. "We will finish this tomorrow afternoon. We have taken up enough of Master Arngeir's time."

With that, he retreated to the special rooms the Greybeards had made up for him and Ven. She helped him out of her armour, and he helped her out of her own, leaving them both in loose tunics and leggings, perfect for sleeping in. They set both their sets on the armour stands provided.

"By the Nine, that was exhausting," Harry said, flopping bonelessly back into his bedroll. He turned to see Ven's smile. She was lying on her side on her bedroll on the other half of the room.

"Better you than me," she said. "We made a great step forward today, Harry."

"The Thalmor won't dare do something publicly now," he said.

"No, not publicly, though Julianos save you from the assassins. You've taken to your responsibilities better than I thought," she said. She came over and sat on the end of his bedroll, dragging hers along with it. She ruffled his hair. He scowled, but it was all in good fun.

"I'm not a genius like Hermione was," Harry said. Then he sighed, missing his friend. "She'd probably be better at this than I am. She was brilliant, almost a year older than me. Ron, too. He was my age, but he could beat most of the seventh years at chess."

Ven raised an eyebrow. "Really?" she said.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, sitting up and crossing his legs.

"Tell me about them," she said. "You never really talk about them." She cast some kind of illusion spell. Harry wasn't great at them, but he figured by the deadened sound it was muffle.

He knew her spells were strong, so Harry did. He told her about Hogwarts and the magickal and mundane world. About Hermione's sharp wit, and Ron's family, and the troll attack at Halloween that had her gasping and laughing in turns. He told her about how it felt to finally have friends, about how loyal they were, about how they saved him in turn from the bewitched broom, about Neville breaking his wrist and discovering Fluffy.

"They sound like true friends," Ven murmured.

"Yeah," Harry said sleepily. "You'd like them."

"You must miss them terribly," she said.

"It's not so bad anymore, not with you here," he said. "It's almost like we really are family."

"Oh, Harry," Ven said, pulling him into a hug. Harry still tensed, but he was ready for it this time. He sagged in her arms, putting her head against his shoulder. She stroked his hair, singing a soft lullaby of nonsense words and hums. Harry laughed as he recognised the tavern Dragonborn song. He really was too old for this. And had grown older still in Skyrim. But she was trying. And he felt safe. Safer than he had felt in a long time.

Almost against his will, he felt himself relax. "You are my family," she said, laying him down on his bedroll and kissing his forehead. He wasn't Harry Potter, wizarding celebrity, or Harry the High King to her. He was her son. Just Harry.

_Home_ , Harry thought.

He heard a thump of someone tripping in the low light over something as he was almost asleep. It sounded like a bag spilling. "Harry?" He heard Ven say.

He cracked one eye and looked over at his mum. "Yeah?" he slurred.

"Why in Aetherius do you have about 2000 septims worth of moon sugar in your pack?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _—End Arc One: Origin—_


	37. Interlude - they move easiest who've learnt to dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _—Begin Arc Two: Rise—_

Harry floated in the Void for a long time. He stood at the centre of a set of spokes, like those on a wheel. It was an impression, nothing more, just the barest hint of something a mortal mind might be able to comprehend.

He couldn't feel anything, but how his mind burned! There was something inside it, growing, pulsing, reaching out and clawing at his very existence. Whatever it was seemed to gain power the longer they spent in the Void.

Something was fighting in his head. He heard a high cold laugh, and the echoes of a dragon's roar.

It was all he could do to keep himself together here, wherever here was. It was enough to drive him mad.

Slowly though, the world grew form, spinning around him in a kaleidoscope of brightly-coloured butterflies, and suddenly there was an empty chair and an empty book open to an empty page on a bone-white table.

But soon enough, that too was gone.

There were shards then, falling from the sky in a wave of glorious light.

Feeling came to him then, in a wave of painful tingles, almost like his whole body had fallen asleep and was just now waking up.

" _The fox he said, 'I'd better flee with my kill or they'll soon be on my trail-o, my tail-o, my tail-o!'"_

Harry awoke in a place that seemed both familiar to him and not. The balmy breeze drifted by with the scent of the sea. The houses were old fashioned, as were the dress. A suspicion built up in his heart, but no, it couldn't be.

It was the spitting image of Solitude. The Blue Palace glittered in the early morning sun. He'd only been here once for a brief moment before he headed out to tour Skyrim province.

He walked up to someone. "Well met, stranger," Harry greeted them. He ignored him. _Well, that was rude._ He tried several others, but all they all had the same reaction. The last one he reached out and tried to grab his shoulder, but he fell through him. Disoriented, he sat on the ground and wondered why he wasn't sinking through it as well. They couldn't see him. Perhaps that explained why no one recognised him for who he was.

"Will no one help me?" He heard a wail. He walked towards the source of the noise, and through a couple of people.

He saw an old bosmer pulling at the sleeves of passers-by _._

"Please, take pity on an old madman!" They scowled and shook him off, but it didn't stop him from trying again and again. "Who among you can help me?"

"Please wait! I'm begging you!" he said to a burly nord. The man pushed him down roughly and kicked him in the side, spitting on him.

"Why does everyone ignore me?" he sobbed, clutching his face in his hands. Harry shook his head. He walked up to him. The smell of wine and mould wafted from him strongly, and his knotted, filthy beard looked as if it hadn't been washed in an age.

Harry tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. "What bothers you, Uncle?"

The man jolted, doing a double take. "My master, he is lost between worlds and I cannot bring him back!"

"You can see and hear me?" Harry asked.

"Yes, yes!" he said fitfully. "Everyone ignores me too! Even my master, my blesséd master, ignores me!"

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Harry asked.

"Yes!" He looked at him as if he were his lifeline. "Convince master to come home, to take Dervenin home, please!"

"I don't know if I can," Harry said doubtfully.

"Please try! He's abandoned us!" he wailed, "He leaves our people to live colourless lives, lost from his Glory, Forever disconnected from—"

"He doesn't sound like a kind master," Harry cut in.

"He's so very rarely praised, but he is a great man!"

Harry sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Oh, Master be praised! You are a kind boy." Dervenin enveloped Harry in a stinky, mouldy hug. Harry tensed and patted the bosmer's back awkwardly. "Here you are." He placed a large stack of rags in Harry's hands. Harry was surprised it didn't fall through as well, but the man _could_ touch him. "Go ahead," the old man urged, "Open it!" Dervenin bit his lip, rubbing his hands together.

He unwrapped the ragged package. Harry looked at the item in his hand, curling his lip. "A hipbone?"

"Not just any hipbone! The hipbone of Pelagius III. The greatest emperor the Empire ever had!"

Harry knew exactly who he was talking about. An old High King of Skyrim, and a member of the Septim dynasty. He could recite the entire line backwards and forwards, up and down and sideways now. His alleged progenitor. "I see."

"Yes, yes! You're the only one who has! He's hidden in the Blue Palace, this will get you in." Dervenin gushed at him. Harry tried not to inhale his rancid breath. It confirmed where they were, though. Solitude. He knew he could smell the sea!

He walked up the long path to the Blue Palace. He was at the beginning of his tour, and they were due to arrive in Riften any day now. He was extremely confused. How had he made it the journey when he had no recollection of setting out on it?

Shaking his head, Harry walked right into an invisible barrier.

He poked at it with his forefinger, but it was as solid as stone. Cautious, he felt all along the barrier, following it inside. It seemed to guide him to a locked door in the side of the grand hall. He tried the door; that didn't work, so he ran his finger over the lock and whispered, " _Alohamora_." The door swung open as if guided by an unseen hand.

He walked through desolate rooms. Shattered wood from furniture and broken glass marred everything. At one point, something had scored the floor, deep gouges that spoke of something angry. Cobwebs dotted most of the open space, and Harry grimaced as he had to keep wiping them from his face.

Moving a few feet farther inside the room, Harry stepped cautiously over a pile of cabbage. He was watching his feet, so he didn't quite realize when the room opened up into a clearing in the middle of a forest.

Harry glanced back and saw the dusty chairs and broken glass. Huh.

"Hello! You're just in time for another cuppa. Aren't I right, Pelly?" A familiar face looked over the table at him.

"I suppose," said a blond man, idly stirring his cup. "I keep telling you how it goes right through me, but you never pay attention." He slammed his fist on the table, causing Harry to startle and reach for a non-existent dagger. "And there's no time! None at all! I have so many things to do. You know how they are when I leave for any amount of time. Yet you're always asking me to tea."

"Pelagius, darling, there's always time for tea." He pursed his lips and primly took a sip, holding his pinkie in the air. He held the saucer with his other hand. The gesture faintly reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall. "It doesn't have to run in a linear direction, you know. Always back, never forward and all that rot."

Harry struggled to place the old man's face, but then he remembered. He recognized those slitted yellow eyes from when he summoned him that night a long time ago but he knew who he was, now. "Oh, it's you," Harry said. _Sheogorath. Mad God and Lord of the Shivering Isles._

The man got up from the table and walked around to face Harry. He stroked his elegant beard, dusted off his brightly coloured clothes, and stared down at him, leaning on his cane, peering into his eyes. "Oh, it's me? Reeeaalllyy? I thought I might have been you. Or were you me? I can never tell." He held out a setting. "Would you like a spot of tea?"

Harry inclined his head and held out his hand. "As a matter of fact, I think I do. You did say you'd must have me over for tea sometime." He had an idea who this man was, now. He wasn't as naïve as he used to be, not about the gods. Or Daedra, as it were. "Or with your tea. But I must warn you, I'm not very tasty."

Sheogorath looked down at Harry's hand and ignored it, licking his lips. "How would you know? Have you ever tasted yourself? I bet your brains are delicious! Oh, but I've never met you before. Or have I?"

Harry smiled, taking it all in stride. "We've met before, certainly, though you may not remember it. However, you did say 'sometime,' sir. I don't quite think it matters whether it was past, present, or future, do you?"

The man frowned. "Of course it matters. I prefer the present. I rather like presents you know. There's no time like the present. And no present quite like time."

"You've said that before," Harry pointed out.

"Ach, no!" Sheogorath said, putting his fingertips over his lips and gasping in shock. "I've run out of material!" Then he shrugged. "In that case, we could always play the skipping game."

"The skipping game?" Harry asked.

"Oh, you shouldn't have asked," the blond man muttered, palming his face and shaking his head.

"Yes!" Sheogorath crowed. "It's the part where I take your entrails—and skip rope with them! Care to donate?" He growled. "Great fun to be had by all! And the winner gets cheese! A whole wheel!" He waved his hands, fingers outstretched. Then he scratched his chin. "Or was it breasts? I remember Tiresias—"

"I'll pass," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

"All mortals do eventually," Sheogorath said. "You say that like it's great news! Like Pelly here," Sheogorath leaned over to confide in Harry's ear. Harry suddenly found himself clothed in elaborate purple finery and seated at Sheogorath's right. "Dead for an age, and then one mortal comes and steals his pelvis!" He frowned, tapping his jaw. "It might have been me, come to think of it."

"You, sir?" Harry said, confused. It seemed to be a common theme when around the Madgod.

Sheogorath looked taken aback. "Why, have you never met yourself, man? You should try it sometime! It's fun! I am the best conversationalist I've ever known!" He stroked his beard. "Too much dancing, though."

"I don't think it's possible to be two places at once," Harry said slowly.

"That's because you're not trying hard enough!" The Madgod said. He waved his hand. "Ach, you'll meet yourself soon enough. It's always entertaining. Now where was I?"

"Tea, sir?" Harry said.

"Oh yes, tea. Here's a cuppa for you, lad." He slid a saucer of tea over to Harry. "And one for you, dear Pelagius." Sheogorath downed it in one gulp, pinky out, and then gazed deep in the bottom of his cup, frowning. "Not nearly potent enough."

Pelagius the third drank his down, shuddering, "Oversteeped. To hide the bitterness of POISON! I KNEW IT!" he said, sweeping one arm off the table and knocking all the setting off the tables. "The Wolf is after me!" he pointed a finger at Harry. "I told the Library, but noooo!"

Harry ignored him, instead turning to Sheogorath. "Where are we?" He knew better than to drink the tea, even before Pelagius's outburst.

"Couldn't you guess?" said Sheogorath. "This beautiful verdant hillside is the landscape provided by my dear host," he gestured to his surroundings. At Harry's confused look, he added. "We're inside his mind, mind you. The mind of Emperor Pelagius III, best Septim since Martin." he sighed happily. "Fox chases, severed heads...butterflies in a kaleidoscope of colour. Those were the days! Not that an immortal Daedra needs days, oh no. Why have days when you can get an eternity!"

"But shouldn't you get back to your people?" Harry asked. He licked his lips. They were dry. He was _so_ thirsty now that he had decided not to drink the tea.

Sheogorath yawned. "Boring, boring, boring! What's the point of a holiday if I've brought my work with me? Work work work all the time. I think something a little bit further out is in order, don't you?" The Madgod snapped his fingers.

"Wait! Harry said, reaching out to stop him; not that he could really do anything to stop the Daedra lord but it was instinctual. He grabbed hold of them just as they disappeared.

They reappeared in a set of catacombs dank with moss and rot. Bones lined the wall.

"Perfect!" Sheogorath crowed. "It's always the same, and I'm tired of the retellings. It's enough to drive one mad! Some things should be experienced new, and I have to see a Friar about a frying."

Harry kept silent as they moved through the place. Sheogorath calmly walked along, drinking his tea. They walked out of the burial chambers and next to a small fenced-in church. Harry saw a faded word that started with a C—. Harry couldn't quite make the rest out. It had been worn away by time.

"Friar Laurence," Sheogorath said, every inch of manic madness gone.

"Milord," the brown-robed man said, inclining his head. "What is it that you require of me?"

"You know what I've come for. Have you perfected it yet?" The man said, tapping his fingers together eagerly.

"Ah, I, uh, yes. How did you know?" Laurence said, keeping his hands inside his sleeves, as if he was fingering a dagger. The movement made Harry tense, but he seemed about as invisible to this man as he was to the entirety of Solitude.

"I told you I would. We've discussed payment?" Sheogorath crossed his arms, leaning forward.

"Yes." Laurence pulled out a purple vial out of his sleeve, handing it to the Daedra, who snapped his fingers and made it disappear. The Friar didn't seem surprised, which struck Harry as a little odd. He'd only seen these kind of clothes on the telly, on _Earth_ , and had no idea what they had to do with Nirn.

Sheogorath grinned, and he made to step back, but he only handed the Friar a small bit of folded parchment, and with another snap, they found themselves at the bottom of a sea.

Harry choked, holding his throat as he gasped in water. He coughed, or tried to. He thought back to his research on spells; water was going down his throat and it _burned_ as it filled his lungs. He forced himself to let go. He didn't have much time, but he brought his arm around, desperate for the spell, and cast.

The water still filled him, but he took a deep breath, and it flowed in and out of his mouth, easy as air. Now that he wasn't panicking, he looked around.

The Madgod sat down on a wooden chair, feet propped up on a rusty old cannon. "You made it, welke." The chair itself sat on a double-mast ship, cracked near in half with a large hole in the side, nestled in some rocks. Harry could see bright blue above him, so he wasn't too far underwater. Far off in the distance, there was a reef, some sand, and an abrupt drop off. "Ahh, much better."

Harry didn't know how Sheogorath's words actually came out as words, but he opened his mouth to nothing but bubbles.

But Sheograth was shaking his head. "Hmm. Boring. Dance!"

Harry found himself clothed in a jester's cape, paraded in the middle of a party in an opulent hall, unlike anything he had ever seen, Hogwarts or Skyrim so far. There were masks, and Harry saw a bald-headed man. "King Lysandus," he heard a female altmer whisper. "Who is this child?"

The stately-looking man garbed in rich finery shook his head. "I did not arrange the entertainment for Saturalia, Medora. Perhaps a joke of Emperor Uriel's?"

Harry felt himself colouring. The whole room stared at him expectantly; save for the loud whisper of the King, it was silent. It was like one of those dreams—walking out in front of a crowd of thousands with nothing on but your pants. He stood still. The whole room stared at him. Harry felt panic well up inside him. _Shor's Stone! I thought I was past this! I will NOT be afraid! I'm a Gryffindor! I am King!_

As if he were reading his thoughts, Sheogorath said "You'll need a royal sceptre for a royal fool!" tossing him a staff. Harry dodged, cursing, but the staff hit him in the back of the head, knocking him flat on his face. The whole room exploded into laughter.

Even the staff was laughing at him with a gaping mouth wide open. No, it had three laughing faces, each one grotesque and twisted. Harry picked up the staff, and immediately dropped it as it zapped him, turning him into a rabbit. He tried to hop around, but he got his foot stuck in the open mouth.

After a few moments, he turned back into himself, whirling around wildly to look for the Madgod, only to step on something sticky. He picked up his feet, moving back and forth to try and get his feet not to stick to the bottom of the floor anymore.

He made it to the edge of the crowd, where suddenly the floor wasn't sticky, so he lost his footing and fell against a small Breton woman, who caught him. She spun him around, and then everyone started dancing.

She handed Harry off to another person, which started a chain of several people until finally, he was dancing with a familiar red-haired, dark-skinned elf that winked at him. She leaned over and whispered, "Wabbajack."

As if that were the magic word, the room cascaded into butterflies, and Harry found himself sitting at the table in purple finery again, his tea cup half empty. He didn't remember drinking it.

Pelagius the third pointed at him. "I told you it was POISON! POSION I say! You don't drink it! It goes right through you!"

Well, considering he could still see through his hand, it must. Out of curiosity, he looked down, but there was no wetness on the ground.

"I remember. You said Wabbajack had been handed out, but you gave Wabbajack to me," Harry mused. How was he so calm now? His easy acceptance of it infuriated him—or it would if he could feel anything but a strange sort of mania. "Of course you did. Why didn't you mention it when I met you before?" It was true. The staff lay across his lap.

"I met you before after? No. You aren't the you you were then. It's an entirely different you," Sheogorath waved his hand away. "Why would I mention it?"

Harry tilted his head to the side. "I see your point."

"Yes, it's rather sharp, isn't it?" Sheograth said, taking another sip of his tea, pinky out.

Harry blinked, and then woke up with his head spinning. He looked out from the tent over at the fire. The coals burned eerily in the darkness.

He rubbed his face. His skin was still tingling. _What a dream._ He laid back down and rolled over, ignoring Ven's snoring, and felt something jabbing into his side. Knowing he placed his sword against the table next to his pillow, he lit his hand with a magelight and glanced down.

A three-headed staff grinned at him in the dim light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interlude One of Four


	38. Interlude - One Must Have a Mind of Winter

Titus Mede II was an old, old man. He sat hunched over his desk, his hand over his eyes as he put down the latest message from a courier. Skyrim was back in the fold, done with their Civil War, but that's what worried him. The rumours coming out the province was just this side short of unbelievable.

Dragons running amuck.

A Dragonborn sent to defeat the legendary dragon, Alduin.

A child-king in one of the hardiest, roughest provinces. A Septim, by all accounts. It wasn't another blow to the Empire like the loss of Hammerfell, but what really belonged to Cyrodiil these days? High Rock with its labyrinthine politics and constant assassinations? No, something was going on with Skyrim, and his legions were hard pressed to do anything about it, spread thin as they were. That's why he had been unable to rout the Stormcloaks. Damn that Ulfric!

Titus banged his fist on the table in rage.

Elseweyr and Valenwood were part of the Summerset Isles and the Aldmeri Dominion. The Black Marsh had invaded Morrowind, which had already been devastated due to the Red Mountain's eruption and the fall of Vvardenfell, but the Black Marsh, much like the Summerset Isles, had never been a part of the Empire since the Oblivion Crisis.

The Dominion's influence was spreading, and he could do nothing about it. They were killing his people. He'd _had_ to renounce Hammerfell. What was the loss of one more province to the thousands that were dying? He didn't care for the White-Gold Concordant. It was much like being imprisoned in your own home and being told what to do by an absolute stranger.

Long ago, back in the Second and Third Ages, being Emperor had meant something. He didn't expect the golden glory days of the Septims when he'd risen to power, but he did expect something. Just not an invasion by the Aldmeri Dominion, the discontent of devout subjects, the loss of the Blades in a time where dragons roamed, and the damn White-Gold Concordant!

And there were serpents everywhere, just itching to slither out of the tall grass and bite him. Particularly one on the Elder Council, one Amaund Motierre. He didn't like the way the slimy Breton man spoke in the Council meetings. He watched him all the time, searching for weakness. The man may have come from an old and powerful family, but in High Rock, that meant they had the skill to survive the deadly court games.

Oh yes, snakes were everywhere. It was all the Penitus Oculatus could do to keep him alive, most of the time. Titus wondered how many other Emperors had to deal with constant assassination attempts. No one was happy with his reign, least of all him!

"And this is how history will remember me," he mused, his voice hoarse. "A weak man sitting on a broken throne."

He'd done all he could to keep the Empire together and to prevent loss of life. He'd been handed a stacked deck, and he knew it.

Cyrodiil had lost their power after the fall of the Septim dynasty, and everyone knew it. Uriel Septim VII had been the greatest of the emperors, and he and all his children had fallen to the assassins. A whole dynasty wiped out in the space of a single year. It was only a matter of time for him, Titus knew. He would not die of his age or of illness.

If only Uriel's bastard Martin Septim had managed to keep the dragonfires lit. The liminal barrier wouldn't have dissolved, the Oblivion Gates to the Deadlands wouldn't have opened, the altmer would have never reformed the Aldmeri Dominion, and the Empire wouldn't have fallen apart.

If only Rielle Springthorn, the Hero of Kvatch, hadn't disappeared shortly after the end of the Age. The bosmeri woman would have been a stronger candidate than High Chancellor Ocato, who had fallen shortly to assassins as the Potentate. Word was the woman had faced down Mehrunes Dagon himself and lived to tell the tale.

"If only," Titus scoffed.

But General Tullius had sent word of a small Breton boy with eyes like green fire or the richest emeralds. Absurdly poetic, especially from a military man. Highly intelligent, very young, but powerful enough to fight and win against Ulfric. Also had a vendetta against the Thalmor, but then again, who didn't?

Harry Potter Venson was intelligent and forward thinking enough to craft an intelligent treaty. To leash Ulfric and bind him to his side as an adviser. He also had the Dragonborn as his primary guardian.

Titus wasn't sure he believed in that nord nonsense, but the fact of the matter was Venathel Springthorn was a very powerful woman, just like her mother. Good Tullius was very thorough in his report. Strange that the boy called her half-sister, though. He was Breton, she was a Wood Elf, and children took the race of the mother. She was also just over two hundred years old, born right at the end of the Third Era before Rielle disappeared. The Blades had kept a close eye on her after her mother's disappearance until their Order was destroyed in the Great War.

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Titus said. An imperial aide came in, dressed in the robes of an Archivist. She had a bracelet on her wrist that slipped out when she held out her hand—diamond shaped metal linked together with a circle inside each diamond. She handed the Emperor six scrolls and a sheaf of paper.

Titus quickly read through the material, finding what he needed to by ease of long practice. "This is verified?" he asked the aide.

"Yes," she said, nodding sombrely. "Several times, just to make sure. The records from the ones sent out on a search are there." She pointed to the three scrolls tied off with red ribbon. "That is from Wayrest," she said of the one with gilded edges, stained with time.

He leaned back in his chair, stunned. "By the Nine! It's true!"

He still couldn't believe it. Titus perused the Scrolls more thoroughly, rereading. There it was in black and white.

No, Venathel Springthorn was not Harry Venson's half-sister like he'd claimed, though the description fit in some ways. Venathel was something like his great-great Aunt. Martin Septim and Rielle Springthorn had been lovers, and not very discreet about it either, according to the old records of the Blades. Venathel was a product of that.

But Martin had had another lover before he became a priest of Akatosh: an imperial woman by the name of Lucretia Aquileia. She'd had a son, Brutus, who'd married a clay artisan named Fleur from Wayrest, and their daughter had taken up the pottery family business. This daughter, Jessamine, had married a legionnaire from Skyrim named Balti, who himself had ties to Emperor Cassynder, Pelagius III and Katariah Ra'athim's son, As he'd had no surname and been a bastard, they'd taken her last name of Potter and had a son named Giacomo.

And there, under Giacomo and Lis Potter, was the name Harry. It was true. The boy was a Septim and had ties to more than one Emperor.

Titus rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel the factions coming out of the woodwork, clamouring to depose him. Venathel was nothing. She was a Wood Elf and that reminded people too much of Camoran and the Aldmeri Dominion. He had nothing to fear from her.

A Breton though—a Breton child at _that_ —was useful. A Breton could make a bid for Emperor. A Breton that had already done more than Titus could at putting Skyrim back together.

A Breton that claimed to be dragonborn. That had apparently already shown esoteric, supernatural skills. Like Alessia. Like Talos. Like Martin, who had _turned_ into a dragon and became the embodiment of Akatosh, his stone form still at the battered Temple of the One.

"Gods," he breathed. Motierre would be certain to take advantage of this. Information was still sparse about the ragged country of Skyrim, but with the lightened border security from the cease of the Civil War, it would not be long before everyone knew and Titus felt the effects.

Now he just had to figure out what to do to keep his people safe. A freezing spring wind was blowing down from Skyrim, and Titus had to figure out whether it was it was heralding a calm summer—

—Or a thundersnow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interlude Two of Four


	39. Interlude - Law's the clothes men wear

**The Rift, Skyrim Province, Tamriel**

**Sundas, 19th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202**

**Mistveil Keep, Two weeks before the High Hrothgar Jarl Summit**

Laila Law-Giver received the missive just as she was sitting down to break her fast from a courier she was unfamiliar with. The woman wore a hood, and her hair was blonde. The set of leathers she wore was rich for just a courier, thick and scarred from heavy use. She kept her eyes low.

"Message for you," she said, with a thick accent Laila was unable to place. "Thank you…" Laila trailed off, looking for a name.

She didn't get one. "I suggest you read it. Might be useful," the woman said.

"Oh, all right," Laila said, a bit put off from her meal. "You're not going to leave?"

"Not until you read it. I'm as happy about playing messenger as you are," the woman crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.

"Where's Anuriel? Shouldn't my steward be handling this?" Laila asked.

The woman laughed. "I think the problem is your steward has been handling a little too much, if you catch my drift." She circled her fingers and made a vulgar gesture.

Laila frowned. "I'm not sure I do."

"And here I was thinking you might have had a brain in that pretty little head of yours. Read the damn letter." Uneasily, Laila realized that she was the only person in the room. Her purple-clothed guards were gone. Even her housecarl! The woman saw her cast her gaze around the room. "Just now figured it out, have you?"

Laila looked down at the seal: a thorned rose, a sheaf of wheat crossed with a honey ladle, and a large and small crescent facing one another. She recognized the crescent, but didn't quite recall where. She burned the seal into her mind, and then cracked it, opening the letter

_Laila,_

_I'm not sure you remember me. We've only talked once or twice. But there's something you should know: you're living in a nest of snakes. And I'm the head._

Her heart started thudding in her chest. She chewed her bottom lip. The woman in the hood had brought out her dagger and was tossing it into the air, spinning it and catching it by the handle every time. The woman could have clearly killed her already and slipped out with no one the wiser.

Unmid and Anuriel gone on "training" sessions that involved a lot of breathy screaming. Maven constantly asking for reparations for "missing" shipments. The skooma trade none of her advisers seemed to know about and the Riften citizens that were quickly silenced every time they brought her news of the city. She took a deep breath, set her jaw, and read on.

_Don't think I'm threatening you. I could easily continue my business with you none the wiser,_

Of that, Laila had no doubt.

_But there are some parts of your court that have quickly become loathsome. We can discuss that in person later. However, what I am asking for right now is your support. I can keep you on your throne, or I can take it away just as easily._

Of course. Despite the mysterious letter writer's words, there was the threat.

_I do not want to do that. It's better for all of us if you remain. People think you are a half-wit. You are not; you are loyal, and trust the people around you to the point of flaw. Not a problem if they are as honest and well-meaning as you are, but when they are corrupt and self-serving it is to the detriment of the people._

And there was the flattery. Laila scoffed internally. Whoever they were, they were predictable. But they were right. She wasn't stupid.

_And Maven Black-Briar is the worst. I know you appreciate honesty, so I will tell you flat out. Her fingers are in a number of dangerous pies, and she has yet to realize the beast she has attempted to cage. It is easy to tempt a starving beast with mere scraps. A well-fed one by other means has no problem biting the hand that feeds. I want her out of our city. I want her out of my business. I want to establish a meadery in her place._

Our city. How generous. So the mysterious letter-writer was just as greedy as the rest of them.

_That will happen. I do not need your help to do it. I am informing you of this as, well, let's call it a courtesy._

Courtesy, right.

_No, I need your voice. And in return, I offer you my Guild and my sword._

Laila sucked in a breath. So the _rumors_ were true. A snake's nest indeed. She read on.

_Anuriel was once one of ours, but Maven's gold speaks sweetly in the ears of the weak-willed. I do not ask for much. The Jarls are convening at High Hrothgar on the Third of Second Seed. I ask that you be among them. I know you have that no great love for Ulfric. I know that you are tired of the Civil War. I only ask for your voice to end the fighting. You will know what to do once you get there._

_In return, I offer you your city back. Your decisions will be your own. I personally dislike the skooma trade and can free you from it. I have no need of you to protect or replace "missing" shipments of mead. I find I can handle things quite well on my own. We will leave the citizens of this city alone, save for those who work against us or get in our way. Or think they can control us and use us as a threat. As for the others, get rid of them or keep them, I don't care. Do not fret. It's not your whole court. Wylandriah and Unmid Snow-Shod are beyond suspicion, though I dare say the latter is overly influenced by pleasures of the flesh and can be persuaded that way._

_You might also look up Mjoll the Lioness and her friend, Aerin. They are as incorruptible as it comes for a place like this. They are good people._

Mjoll had made herself a fine champion of Riften, though she had never met her personally. Laila already had corroborating evidence of her strict integrity. The letter-writer had to know the woman was actively working against them, so the fact they were willing to give her her name was a point in their favor and a strong sign they were telling the truth.

_The only other condition is that you leave us alone as long as we do not provoke. Imprison those stupid enough to break this side of the agreement, I don't care. But we will make you rich, and help your influence grow._

The offer was...tempting. Laila took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Very tempting. It was true she had no faith in Ulfric himself. She was a devout Talos worshipper, and Ulfric was the only chance she had at driving Imperial influence out of her city. And Maven was Imperial influenced, yes.

It hurt, a little. She had thought she could trust her. And reading between the lines, they were already influencing her court anyway, through Maven. This was her chance to take her court back into her hands, to have the influence be overt instead of covert. That was freeing, in a way. But if she took the deal, would she not be as corrupted as Maven? But could she keep things the way they were, knowing they would only get worse?

The letter had made threats, but it had also freely offered information the letter-writer didn't expect payment for.

_If you desire to make an agreement, let my messenger know. She will ensure the right ears hear it. And if not, then we have nothing further to say to one another, now do we?_

_Regards,_

_Nightingale Shadowcloak_

Laila looked over at the woman, who by then had snatched an apple and was carving it up with the dagger. She swallowed her fear."Will you take me out into the city?" she asked. "So I can see if this is true for myself?"

"Do I look like a damn guide?" The woman said, pushing off the wall and wiping her apple-coated dagger on a decorative drape. "I got better things to do."

"And if I say I agree to the conditions of the letter before we go?" Laila asked.

"Well, then that's a different story, now isn't it? It makes you my responsibility."

Laila closed her eyes. She was right. This woman was a part of it, too. "Did you know what was in the letter?"

"I'm not paid to know, and it's better if I don't. I know the gist, and that's enough."

"So you will understand if I want to see the city before I agree," Laila pressed.

The woman looked at her for a long time, her grey eyes cold. "Fine. You follow my lead and do exactly as I say. No questions, no excuses. I don't have time for some spoilt brat."

"I just want to see my people," Laila said quietly. "If I agree, there will be changes. I don't want to think this goes as far as my own sons, but I know better than that."

"Here." The woman tossed a cloak and a leather hood at her. "Put this on, and then we'll go. This wasn't part of the deal, though, so if you say no after I've gone through all this trouble, I will be very displeased."

Laila donned the cloak, and they walked out of Mistveil Keep, moving through Riften. The people above seemed well off, but the people close to the docks suffered. An argonian woman was clearly high out of her mind, kicking her feet in the water and staring about listlessly.

The people on the streets seemed starved, hungry. Noticing the look, the woman said, "This is better than it was months ago. Our leader fixed things and is very generous towards those in need."

"With other people's money," Laila said, huddling inside the cloak at the dim picture she saw.

The woman smirked. "Well, some. But not all of it comes from that, you know. Investments, trade, a merchant empire. People who know people."

They finally meandered over to the Bee and Barb, Riften's main tavern, around noon and sat down together. The woman pulled out a bottle with a label. Rosethorn, it said in elegant lettering. She produced a pair of tankards and sat down, splitting the bottle between them. "Drink up," she said. "It's good."

Laila was surprised to find that she was right. The mead was lightly sweet and full-bodied, though not sweet enough to be nauseating. She found she preferred it over the dry Black-Briar mead. It danced across her palate.

"A deliberate sample of their talent?" she murmured. "Just how much am I being manipulated?" The woman just smiled in return.

The door flew open and a heavily armoured nord woman and an imperial man walked it. "Look, Mjoll, I told you! One of these days you're going to get yourself killed upsetting Maven Black-Briar!"

"I don't care. She wants to kill me, she can come down herself and do it. She may be a cold, unfeeling bitch, but she doesn't have the courage to face me herself, and I can take care of any of her minions."

"Lady Mjoll, that may be very well what happens!" the man said, face white. "You know you can't do anything to her!"

"If I don't step up for the people of this city, no one will!" She slammed her gauntlet against the table. "Not the guards, not the Jarl, not anyone! I saw one of her people shaking down a beggar. A beggar, Aerin, who had done nothing to her and only asked for food. He touched her and was near murdered for it! I had to step in!" She carried on, listing the Black-Briar family's sins to her distraught imperial friend.

So this was Mjoll. She wasn't the first person she'd heard rail against Maven, but she was the most vociferous, which was something, considering almost everywhere she'd heard complaints about the court's apathy and about the Black-Briar family tyranny. The letter was right. She had nothing to lose.

Laila had had enough, deliberate manipulation or not. "Take me back. I've decided. Yes. The answer is yes."

* * *

Laila had walked the seven thousand steps to the Throat of the World alongside one of her fellow jarls, Ingrod. They had arrived on the First of Second Seed days before, and the Jarls and one guard would be staying at High Hrothgar while the rest stayed down in the village. Against her better judgment, she'd brought Mjoll. She would have preferred to leave her in charge considering she couldn't trust anyone, but that would have tipped her hand a little early. It was already a little suspicious asking the woman instead of bringing Unmid.

They'd talked on the way here long and in depth about the problems facing Riften, and they'd had worked out a plan, Mjoll extremely pleased to see the Jarl finally listening and taking care of the problem. Laila hadn't quite realized how much money the Riften coffers had lost, presumably embezzled by Maven and her ilk. She didn't tell Mjoll about the offer. She already felt a little guilty, but she couldn't see any other way out but accepting it. It was better than the alternative.

Still, most of them waited inside High Hrothgar at the table for the meeting to begin. It was the first time since King Torygg's ascension she'd seen most of these people, and some faces, like Siddgeir of Falkreath, were brand new.

Balgruuf came in and sat down, leaving the elf woman who followed him standing at the head. The woman cast her eyes around the table, searching and locking eyes with some of the Jarls, giving them the tiniest of nods. She doubted she would have noticed if she hadn't been paying close attention, looking for the letter-writer.

When the elf's eyes poisonous orange eyes locked with hers, giving her a pointed look, she knew she had found her. The legendary Dragonborn had indeed been in her court before, though it had been before the rumours of her valiant nature had spread. Now Laila knew why she had been there. She smiled pleasantly, and inclined her head the tiniest of bits. Ven, Laila believed her name was. She spoke well enough.

It didn't change much, she was still leashed, but it did make her feel a little better.

Of course, that was until she understood the candidate for High King was a little boy, not even close to manhood. He cut a fine figure, that much was true, but Skyrim needed a real king to hold it together. Still, if Laila Law-Giver did anything, she kept her promises. So while everyone else was silent, she said in the strongest voice she could muster, "Seconded."

And like a crumbling tower, a horde of voices followed her own. There was something to be said about the willingness to speak out. Laila idly wondered what blackmail she had on the other Jarls.

When Ulfric challenged him, the look on the boy's face was calm, almost bored even. Confidence or arrogance one wondered.

Still, she followed the Greybeard out into the snow, determined to see for herself. She found herself standing next to Galmar, Ulfric's second-in-command. He was livid, almost completely red-faced underneath that bear head of his.

"Are you all right?" she just had to ask.

"Fine," he grunted. "Ulfric's an idiot. And don't think I didn't notice you didn't cast your vote for Ulfric."

"Oh, why do you say that?" Laila asked, hardly perturbed. It didn't matter who won or lost, not really. She had already done what she came here to do. It might have hurt her standing with the Stormcloaks, but even when the boy lost, she would still have the Guild's influence. Ven by rumour and deed was a woman of her word. "It looks like an easy win."

"If he wins, he'll have near killed a child. If he loses, he'll have lost to a child. He wouldn't listen to me when I told him!" Galmar said, raising his fists in the air. "It's Torygg all over again!"

Laila turned her attention back to the mêlée. "Perhaps not," she said as the boy Harry healed himself and baited Ulfric into a mad rage. Two hits and the battle was almost in Ulfric's favour as the boy could do nothing but dodge. She thought it was over when Ulfric Shouted.

Hers was not the only jaw to drop when the boy returned Ulfric's Shout with a Shout of his own. The silence hung in the air for a long time, Galmar's whispered "No," the loudest sound in the courtyard.

A few minutes later, after a rather pretty speech, the boy Shouted again, and again, and subdued Ulfric after another brief struggle.

"Well. I'll be damned," Laila said. Ven clearly knew what she was doing. The boy was clever, well-spoken, and skilled, puppet or not. And another Dragonborn, when the elf was supposed to be the last. "I'll be damned." She turned to Galmar Stone-Fist. "How does that factor into your plans, hmm? Your rebellion's over. The war's lost."

"Shut up," he said. "I'm trying to hear over the elf's loud braying." Laila looked out towards the battlefield, beyond where Ven was talking about brotherhood and duty. The new King and Ulfric were talking in low tones. It ended with Ulfric taking the King's hand and following at his heel, humbled.

"Looks like he doesn't have the same reservations as you do," Laila pointed out, kind of enjoying riling him up. He'd always been a serious, patriotic nord.

Galmar growled in apoplectic rage, words lost in the sheer anger. At this point, he did truly resemble a bear.

She clapped him on the shoulder. "Might want to work that out with him," she said, before following the other Jarls back inside the room.

She could get used to this. And she was definitely in favour since she had been instrumental in getting them the throne. She'd made a deal with an honest devil, and Riften was going to be fixed. She might even make Ven Thane for her service. It would give her a reason to stay at court and close by, no one the wiser.

For the first time in a long time, things were looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interlude Three of Four


	40. the narrow house make thee to shudder

**Unknown Date**

**Unknown Location**

Something pressed against him in from all sides. He tried to take a breath, but couldn't; the sensation lodged itself in his throat, and he choked—or he would have, but all he felt was the gagging sensation as his throat squeezed, dry and dusty as a bone. He was unable to swallow. Grey filled his vision, and he lost himself, and he fell into the fog.

It was a long time before he came into awareness again, and even then, it was only in intermittent bursts. He attempted to move his arms; he could feel they were stretched out to the sides, but they were immobile, no matter how hard he strained. He couldn't feel individual sensation, and yet he felt too much, like his entire body was in a vice, pressure on all sides.

He still couldn't move, but things seemed brighter for a while; everything _burned_ —it was impossible to gauge time here—then the darkness descended again, and he lost himself again, black surrounding him on all sides.

He awoke again, same as before, sore and hurting. Sharp pain flared through his back and he struggled. He twitched his shoulder blades and felt something shift; then came a low rumble, like the shifting of stone. Then nothing.

The next time he awoke was to the howling of rage-filled wind tearing against his skin. He struggled against his prison, but couldn't break free even as cold shards cut through his very soul.

Rain splashed against his face the next time he came back to himself. He could almost hear again, but the sounds were of the dull roar of battle, shouts and screams of fury and pain.

He wanted to scream, to shout, anything to stop the battle—had his sacrifice done _nothing_ —but then there was nothing again nothing—

Nothing but the quiet of the rain against his fevered, solid skin.

 _I was someone,_ he thought, though even pulling that much of himself together radiated an eternity of agony. _I was someone, once._

_In Paradise..._

_I'm out of time, my love—_

And then everything shifted to the music of cracking crumbling stone.

* * *

A dark shadow crept out into the meadow, silent and secret. She flitted from side to side, zigzagging through the night until she reached a large tree on the edge of the meadow, next to a vegetable garden.

In a few short seconds, she'd scaled the oak and nestled herself in the heart of the branches, huddled in her mother's deep blue cloak edged with silver, hood up to protect her ears from the cold winter wind, a warm set of robes providing additional protection.

The full moon shone bright tonight, dulling the stars. She hummed to herself from her position in the oak tree. Its bare branches stretched out, caressing the sky and the stars with its fingers.

She started singing, her voice echoing through the starry night, sounding the words as they came to her. As she did, she worked a round pale turnip into a nest of vines adorned with flowers—her new necklace, a charm against the shadows that were beginning to creep through the empty garden.

_Full moon, full moon, please let your light shine bright,_

_The spider weaves its way through the heavens,_

_The eye obscures the night._

_The shadows fall against you, lonely moon;_

_Like hungry wolves amongst the guileless sheep—_

_The pale horse rides at noon._

And what was the next part? Hmm, she couldn't remember at the moment. She slid the charm over her neck, tying it into place with ease. Once she did, she felt a little better. Something in her eased just a bit. She continued looking down into the vegetable garden, over to the ramshackle tower.

She should really be asleep, she supposed, but the moonlight made the charm stronger, which was rather nice of her, she thought.

Another particularly strong burst of wind had her wrap her cloak tighter against herself, but she didn't feel like going inside, not with the moonlight being so bright. It was a hazard of being who she was. It kept her awake, these nights of the full moon. They pulled at her, those tendrils of moonlight. She didn't mind so much. She always saw things clearer that way at this time of night.

She huddled back against the bark of the tree, watching a spider crawl in front of her. She was building her web piece by piece from branch to branch, and the threads shone in the moonlight. Some of the web that had already been finished had little drops of dew beading on the thin silken threads. Dew, not frost. Odd, this deep into winter.

It should have been too cold for spiders, but this small one clearly didn't mind. She put her hand on the branch, and the spider crawled over her fingers. So very kind and gentle, this spider was. She let it finish its trek beyond her fingers and back to the other side of the tree. Now that the spider was out of the way, she retrieved her basket of bones she'd hidden in the hollow.

Father disapproved of osteomancy. Mother had taught her anyway.

She hadn't killed any of the things she'd retrieved the bones from. Just collected them, here and there: The shoulder of a fox. The leg bones of a rabbit. The entire spine of a mouse. The wing of a bat. The antlers of a young stag and the jawbone of the wolf that killed him. The skull of a snake. The tooth of a bear. The shell of an abalone, a tiger's eye, and a smooth river stone. Sardonyx, obsidian, and citrine. Gold and feathers from an owl, a nightingale, and a crow. A branch of Rowan. The fossil of a leaf, what once was living, leaving only patterned stone behind in its death.

The moon shone bright, unusually so. The bones gleamed in the light.

She slid down the tree in a graceful fall, cloak trailing behind her. She moved to a ring of mushrooms just on the outskirts of the garden and started shaking the bones gently, moving the basket in a clockwise circle, humming to call forth the Old Magick. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and cast her destiny to the wind.

The bones fell, and the future took shape. A vast mountain and a sword, a raging river separating two paths, foretold by the way the spine and jaw bone fell parallel, the feathers at a right angle pointing up. The red banded sardonyx; blood. Death. Struggle. The bat wing branched from the scapula of the fox. A tiger's eye from above, the dark stone even darker in the night.

The stone leaf cracked in half.

And the river stone with its perfect hole through the middle, caught on the antler of the stag.

* * *

Arnbjorn loped through the fields, almost at Whiterun, following the trail from the embassy that still smelled fresh: fire and brimstone, leather and lightning on the wind, the cool of winter, the smell of pine—the musky scent of an Ysgramor dog. Veezara's mageling.

His trip had been easy enough and quicker as a wolf. He'd covered a fair amount of ground in a short amount of time. There had been a few delays of course, a few marks devoured or killed—or both. On one memorable occasion, he'd devoured the target alive. He grinned, showing large cuspids.

Ahhh, good times. Things had become so much better once he'd given in to his instincts.

He'd have to be careful here, though, what with those Companions sniffing around. Still, it would be worth it if he could catch his scent. Better, if fresh. Even better if he were here personally. The boy would be easy to lead and corner, and then he could find out why the Companions betrayed their code.

He hadn't been this excited in a long time. A boy—a young werepup—was valuable, oh yes. Unformed, unmoulded, ripe for the sculpting. Festus had groused, but Arnbjorn had smelled his excitement at the raw potential. And Astrid was always looking for ways to help the Dark Brotherhood regain its glory.

He didn't care much for that. No, he much preferred a good meal and a good hunt and no one to look at him askance with double-edged standards. They murdered and stole and called it law. Hmph. Arnbjorn knew what he was. No, what he wanted was power. (And maybe to thumb his nose at those bastards) Yet, he'd do it. For Astrid. His cold dead heart warmed at the thought, but he banished it. She had his loyalty and was a good lay, if nothing else.

This deep into the night, few were outside their homes. Less so with the rumours of vampires, cultists, and dragon attacks. In Arnbjorn's opinion, anyone who couldn't take care of themselves deserved their death, the more painful the better.

Still, while the scent trail was stronger here, lingering at a small house by the blacksmith, the boy was long gone. Damn it. Wasted trip. He turned to leave.

A rattling from the gate had him ducking deeper into the shadows instead, out of the path of the wind.

It was the self-righteous bitch, Aela. Complete with the drunken woman from the Bannered Mare slung over her shoulder, fussing and kicking up a hell of a lot of noise.

He caught their scent. No, that couldn't be right. A Companion wouldn't touch a vampire, they'd kill it. He remembered that argument very well.

And yet, they were bickering, Aela following the familiar trail to the Jorrvaskr, the same path the boy had taken some time before. "I told you I didn't need your help!" shouted the drunk.

"And I told you I made a promise. So shut your mouth before you wake everyone!" Aela snapped back. "Would you rather I kill you?"

"Better to die than to live as a monster!"

"Stop being so dramatic! I told you he was alive! He was captured looking for you! So you might as well live, since he was so desperate to find you!"

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" snapped the drunk.

"We've gone over this once, we've gone over it a thousand times. When will I get it through your thick head that I can smell it? You can too, if you would just try instead of denying everything that you are."

"I'm not denying, I'm just—" the drunk trailed off.

"Exactly," Aela said, her tone smug. "For Harry's sake, if nothing else." Before she could say anything else, they were approached by a tall behemoth of a Companion. "Aela," he said, deep voice flat.

"Farkas."

"Kodlak wants to see you."

"I figured as much." Aela bumped the drunk up on her shoulder, causing her to start grumbling and cursing. "Harry stopped by?"

"Yes."

"Good."

The drunk perked up. "He's alive?" she said, her voice hopeful.

"I told you already. When will you listen to me?" Aela said.

The man named Farkas frowned at her. "Are you sure?" he said, looking at the drunk.

Aela laughed. "If I couldn't corral her, I'd be ashamed to call myself a Companion. You'll watch Uthgerd while I go speak with Kodlak?"

Arnbjorn frowned. So that was the name.

Farkas nodded, and the woman Uthgerd was handed over like a sack of potatoes and thrown over his shoulder instead. Just then, the wind changed. The man sniffed as the wind carried edges of Arnbjorn's scent towards him. Arnbjorn cursed and pressed himself further against the back of the wall.

The man slowly walked closer to his hiding spot, still sniffing.

"Farkas, what are you doing?" Aela asked.

The man turned. Arnbjorn used the moment of inattention to dart behind a house away from the wind again.

"I thought I sensed something."

"Well come on. No need to be out in the middle of the street where everyone can hear Companion business."

"Right," Farkas said, and he slowly ambled behind her towards the mead hall.

Arnbjorn waited. Hmm. So the boy's name was Harry, and he was a member of the Companions, confirmed by his scent. It was at his wish that the vampire not be killed, and they actually listened. Just what kind of influence did he have? The more he heard, the more intriguing the boy was. Still, he'd have to find a more discreet way to spy with all those dogs sniffing around.

He'd seen a girl sleeping in the street and and a few beggars. They were typically good for coin. Perhaps a little pricy, but this was something the Brotherhood needed to keep an eye on.

And the rumours of a boy-king named Harry. If they were one and the same, if the High King _was_ a werewolf, well…

Excitement churned in the pit of his stomach. Then this was the genesis of something extraordinary.

Oh yes. The Dark Brotherhood would be watching eagerly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Interlude four of four**


End file.
